


Eyes in the Dark

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Adultery, Death of minor characters, F/M, Furry, Gore, Logan Needs A Hug, Love Triangle, Pregnancy, RoLo, Rough Sex, Secondary abusive relationship, Shamanism (I made a lot of it up), Superstition, Werewolves, Wolf movie, male!Raven (see if you can spot her), one scene of nonconsensual sex in chapter thirteen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3490967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all of the night's creatures are tame. A love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is being Reposted from the RoLo Realm. I have the same username out there.

**Martha’s Vineyard, 1:15AM :**

She was burning the midnight oil again. That made six nights in a row.

Ororo yawned and stretched, leaning as far back in her tilting chair as she could go. Her eyes were so tired and dry that they ached, but that last paragraph was dogging her. Mocking her.

_I’m the boss. Not you._ It was just a paragraph. A clump of words on a page. How hard could that be?

The answer was staring her in the face, cursor blinking from the white glare of her screen. _Shit._ She got up and padded to the kitchen to make herself some cocoa.

The faint sound of a foghorn moaned in the distance. Ororo shivered against a faint draft working its way inside through the slats of the window over the sink. She made a brief detour to the laundry room and grabbed one of several “doorsnakes” she’d prepared a month ago, wincing at how cold it felt in her hands. The sand inside the long wool sock shifted as she squeezed it, deciding it was long enough to do the job as she laid it on the sill, covering the crack seam. Much better.

Deadlines sucked. 

Ororo assembled her favorite mug that featured an old school Wonder Woman in her seventies “Superfriends” uniform standing proudly with her hands on her hips, along with some two percent milk and the Hershey’s unsweetened powder. She just wasn’t a Swiss Miss girl. She heated up the small saucepan on her gas stove’s back burner while she looked for the vanilla extract and cinnamon.

She nearly dropped the milk back onto the counter as something slick and furry slithered against her ankles. 

“Mrowr,” Giblet whined, flicking her tail back and forth.

“Shit! Don’t do that,” Ororo scolded, getting nothing but loud, hungry purrs in response. “Don’t suck up to me, pal. That won’t work.” That was a lie; her cat was so spoiled. Reptilian yellow eyes blinked up at her while she threw the ingredients into the pot. She sighed and took down a tiny, chipped saucer she’d scored at the flea market outside Pocasset, dribbling a few drops’ worth of milk onto it and handing it down to her cat. Giblet was already pawing it at it before it even touched the floor. She was assailed by even more purring and the faint lapping sounds of her cat’s tongue. “Greedy little thing.” Ororo plopped two sugar cubes into her cup and waited for the milk to boil.

A big chunk of her advance already went toward paying off her car. Her balloon payment was next. Easy come, easy go. She just couldn’t bear to part with her house. 

Ororo fell in love with the Colonial-style two-bedroom house the moment she set foot on the slightly creaky porch. It was surrounded by sand and beach grass and offered a gorgeous view of the water. The sand, salt and wind were hell on her car, but you didn’t give up a chance to live on the Vineyard, and the property itself was a gold mine. Her enormous picture window was the focus of her living room, cluttered with an array of stained glass suncatchers, antique glass bottles (also scored at the flea market), seashells, and a piece of lead crystal that Ali gave her for her birthday. It was too late to see the prisms, obviously, but it was her favorite piece.

She smelled the milk burning slightly, tearing from her musings. She hissed with disgust and poured it into her cup, skimming off the thin skin with her spoon. A small plate of vanilla sugar wafers accompanied her back to her office. The night wasn’t getting any shorter. It was time to whip that chapter into shape.

_If there was one thing about Zoe that Mick would take with him to the grave, it was that crooked smile and how it caressed him one last time when he waved goodbye. A man only loved like that once. Lightning only struck twice in the science books._ Ororo checked what she wrote and corrected a typo. _He was about to be proven wrong._

Minutes later, Ororo’s PC was turned off and she was making her drowsy way upstairs, Giblet dogging her heels. She fumbled in the dark for the upright, padded stand she used for her reading glasses, folding them and putting them away. 

She’d just finished saying her prayers and turning down the duvet when she heard a low howl from outside, low and chilling. As if she, too, found it unsettling, Giblet darted under the covers, promptly curling into Ororo’s armpit. Spoiled cat…


	2. Getting Away From it All

Logan hated the new moon. He wished they’d name it something else. The sky yawned above him empty and black, the stars obscured by the thick silver clouds.

It felt like a night for thieves, he thought. Or anyone else that thrived on the cover of darkness.

Logan huddled more deeply into his thick, quilted flannel shirt and tore off another chunk of the flaky scone he’d picked up at the Black Dog Bakery. It was dry in his mouth; he chased it down with a gulp of stale decaf coffee.

He reached into his pocket and extracted his car keys, fingering them idly. It felt lighter now that his old key wasn’t on it anymore. He congratulated himself on his exit from the house that used to be his. Cool, calm. Nothing to give away that she’d gotten under his skin. He was done with Carol, moot once she let him know she was done with him first. 

He should have seen the signs.

A loud clatter down the long slope from his cottage startled him from his musings. It sounded like a dog was getting into his garbage cans. They’d made a godawful mess that last time, littering the perimeter with less savory items like the foam packing from a pound of hamburger, coffee grounds, banana peels, and some overripe tuna salad. Logan didn’t need the neighbors knowing what he ate…

They were quiet enough folks, if a little nosy. He’d gotten the clichéd “welcome to the neighborhood” speech and played twenty questions with the young couple who lived in the two-story house that reminded him of something out of a Hardy Boys novel he’d read as a kid. Logan kept to himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people; he just preferred his own company the best.

A quick trip back into his rental found him emerging with a large lantern and wearing a thicker coat and gloves. He knew it wasn’t old lady Adler’s poodle, since she never let him out. If it was anything bigger, at least he was wearing more layers, in case it decided to get unfriendly. 

He was just tired of whatever it was getting into his damned trash. If he could finally see it, he could call animal control.

The sandy gravel crunched beneath his short duck boots and the wind bit into his nape, creeping beneath his collar. He cursed the lack of stars. He smelled winter in the air, wagering it would snow before the month was out. Thanksgiving was only two weeks away. It felt weird knowing he was spending it alone.

Logan heard raspy, crunching sounds up ahead. Yup, it sounded like a dog, complete with faint huffing, guttural sounds and the scrabble of short claws on the ground. He rounded the corner and saw an aluminum trash can lid lying on the ground, several yards away from the large wooden bin housing the containers. 

A large form was limned in the light from his lantern as he held it up, right before he reached for the lid. He planned to bang on it to drive the dog away.

“Scram! Get outta there, mutt!” he growled. The figure’s body tensed, and instead of a short yelp and the scuffle of feet that Logan expected, a low, guttural snarl reached his ears and made his hair stand on end.

It was a huge black wolf. He made the mistake of looking it in the eye as it leveled him with a gaze that nearly made him piss himself.

Blood raced through his veins like quicksilver. Steely, lupine eyes peered out from above a long snout, a silver mask of fur around them punctuated by its shaggy black coat. A cavernous mouth full of jagged teeth vibrated with the creature’s growl as it defended _its_ territory, staking its claim. Its fur was bristling in sharp spikes. Logan sucked in a breath, the icy air burning his lungs.

Time stood still. He was frozen on the spot. The wolf sized him up, crouching as its paws scrabbled against the ground. He wanted to step back. Running spelled his death if he couldn’t make it quickly enough to his front door.

The wolf made up his mind for him, coiling neatly and springing through the air, closing the gap between them. Fear wrapped strangling talons around his heart, yet he felt some strange sense of awe in witnessing the wolf’s arc, its body undulating in a clean, fluid ripple of muscle.

He was bowled over, knocked flat onto his back. He struggled under its bulk, craning and leaning his face as far away as he could from its maw. Hot breath and misty dampness bathed his cheek, making it clammy, yet he couldn’t tell the difference. There was that growling, that thunking sound that a lion makes in its throat as it resumes its place in the pack from chasing away interlopers.

He reacted without thinking, bringing up the lid to bash it in the chops. Its bark was staccato, enraged and still too close. He merely knocked it off-balance. Claws tore into his coat, and it caught Logan’s arm in his teeth, worrying it back and forth to expose his vulnerable throat.

No matter how miserable his life was in recent weeks, he never planned to die this way, to go out this soon. He struggled and brought up the lid again, plowing it into the beast’s muzzle. He heard the sickening scrape of bone against metal. Air was being crushed out of his chest from its weight.

The beast flung away the lid, snatching it from his shaking fingers. He stared death in its slanted, burning eyes. It lunged at him again and again, diving for exposed flesh. Searing pain erupted in his jaw as his blood spurted into the creature’s mouth, hot and thick. He was raked by those claws, tearing deeply through his skin at the base of his throat, tearing through his thick flannel.

He didn’t know how his lantern found its way into his hand. He just aimed it with all his might, and it struck home.

The creature’s scream could be heard for at least a mile. Its fur singed and charred, sending up the stench of kerosene. It reared up, shock and pain distracting it from its prey, and it tore off into the night. Logan lay wearily on the ground, spent and stunned. His body throbbed; he felt the blood trickling down his neck, running back into his ears.

He heard a muted thump several yards as an oncoming car rounded the curve in the road too late, striking the animal and putting it out of his misery.

All he could remember the next day were the voices hovering over him, and hands lifting him onto a stretcher. Sirens chased him into blurry sleep.


	3. Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan isn't feeling like himself.

“Logan, would you mind closing the door?”

“Not at all.” The office was tidy and silent, save for the faint hum of his supervisor’s hard drive and the ticking of his wall clock. Logan had the urge to linger by the door. Mac’s manner was stiff as he nodded for him to take the seat opposite his desk.

“You saw the recent memo that we were downsizing a few departments, Logan, so let me make this brief. Your department’s being affected by this change. You’re being offered early retirement as an alternative to being terminated.” Logan’s stomach sank as though it were made of lead.

“Yer kiddin’ me.”

“I’d never kid you.” That wasn’t true. He kidded him all the time by the water cooler. But his voice was matter-of-fact, his blue eyes sober and full of sympathy.

“Geez.” He leaned back and shook his head in denial. “Whaddya want me ta say, Mac? This ain’t somethin’ I had on my docket today. Finish the Dane account, head out on a new business go-see with Summers Brothers, that much I planned; I just didn’t plan this, Mac.”

“I know,” he replied quietly. “And I’m sorry.” He slid a thick manila envelope across his desk. “That’s the offer of all the usual stuff. Stock options, 401k rollover, COBRA benefits, terming your life insurance policy – “

“I ain’t even 65,” Logan grumbled.

“Fifty-five and up was all you needed to qualify for early-out, Logan. Thank God for small favors.”

“Sure,” Logan added. _Long enough to give one company his lifeblood, his **soul,** for twenty years._ He didn’t feel that thankful. That ugly haze of tingles rushed over his flesh and his palms felt hot. His collar suddenly felt itchy and too tight. Mac noticed his consternation and sighed.

“You’ve been a fantastic member of the team, Logan. This company’s greatness was built on the quality of work you’ve given us.”

“That ain’t much of a comfort right now,” he informed him curtly. The folder was burning a hole in his hand.

“I wasn’t a part of this decision, Logan. Please realize that.”

“I don’t blame ya, Mac. It ain’t yer fault, yer just doin’ yer job, like I’ve been doin’ mine all this time.” Logan rose to leave.

“Don’t go yet.” Mac shoved himself away from his desk and stood as well, opening up his desk drawer and extracting a bottle of Jack Daniels. Logan’s mouth quirked.

“Ya could get into trouble fer havin’ that here.”

“Are you gonna have a drink with me or not?”

“Ya got a glass?” He was gonna miss Mac.

AlphLight was an industry leader in annuities and in Forbes’ top ten. Logan came into the company when it was still a mom n’pop savings and loan, and he was still green, fresh out of BU. He’d been hopeful, back then. They ran him through the gauntlet. _Yes, Big Brother, can I have another?_ That was his mantra to himself every day for the first five years until his efforts paid off.

So now, they were cutting him loose. His face gave nothing away of what transpired in Mac’s office. He hadn’t had one shot. He’d had three. 

Clementine looked up from a sudoku puzzle book at the sound of his footsteps. A cooling cup of ramen noodles sat half finished on her desk; she was on her lunch break. Her eyes studied him, immediately dropping from his to the ominous folder tucked under his arm. Her face was wreathed in understanding and sympathy.

“Mr. Howlett…is that what I think it is?” she whispered. He nodded. She leapt up from her desk and circled it, hurrying to close the door to her tiny office. She turned back, plucked the folder from his hands and engulfed him in a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Clementine had been his secretary for nearly a decade. Loyal, in tune with his needs, sensitive and professional, and she never let classified details of any kind leak out of his office. She kept a tight rein on his expenses and on her own mouth. Clementine adored him, particularly after he gave her an additional two weeks off for bereavement leave when her son Jean-Paul was killed in a skiing accident.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. He felt her tears drip onto the shoulder of his silk blazer and mastered the urge to break down. Instead he returned her embrace, patting her. “You’ve been so good to all of us. Don’t let any of these bastards ever tell you different.”

“I can’t lose when I have you in my corner, Sunshine,” he chuckled weakly. She released him and gave him a sheepish smile when he snatched a Kleenex from the box on her desk and handed it to her. “Don’t believe what they say about teachin’ an old dog new tricks. I’ll get back in the saddle.”

“This is just so much after everything you’ve been th…I’m sorry. I should keep my mouth shut.”

“I’ll manage. Paperwork’s almost finished. Carol’s a free woman, which means I’m free, too.” Even though he never wanted to be.

“As long as she didn’t get your baseball card collection.” Her tone was momentarily stern as she clasped his sleeve.

“Hell, no.” She exhaled her relief.

“Thank God for small favors.” He winced at hearing Mac’s words coming out of her mouth.

“I get any messages?”

“Just one from your lawyer. I told him you’d call him back.” She hadn’t left him a sticky note. She tried not to leave a paper trail of his personal calls, even though she had a shredder right beside her desk.

“Yer a peach, Clem.”

“You can’t take me with you?”

“Don’t think I’m allowed.” That was his last word before he retreated to his office.

He tossed the folder onto his desk with a slap and surveyed his belongings. It already looked like someone else’s space. Blood rushed in his ears, and he felt faintly sick.

The first wave of dizziness hit him like a Mack truck. 

He heard his own heart pounding, feeling his pulse throb in his ears, his wrist, his neck. Itchy. His skin itched abominably, every nerve overstimulated and chafed.

He dropped to his knees, coughing and gasping, accidentally knocking over a pitiful little cactus plant on the edge of his desk. The terra potta pot cracked in two, scattering sandy soil and embedding the plant’s spines in the carpet.

That’s when he heard the voices.

_When’s he out?_

_Next week. Didn’t even give him full notice._

_Crusty old fart. Who’s getting his office?_

_His wife just left him. This has gotta suck._

_Place needs some new blood._

_You could be next. Give him a break._

_Could you get me a turkey on wheat from the cart downstairs? Here’s a fiver, I’m working through…_

Clementine came rushing inside. “Are you all right? I heard a crash…oh, sir, you don’t look all right at all!” He rolled to a sitting position and leaned his forehead against his knees.

“M’all right. Just need a sec…shit.”

“You’re scaring me!”

“Said I’m all right, Clem.” He waved her away. “Water?”

“Stay here,” she ordered, not unlike a drill sergeant. 

She came back with the water and a cool rag. Her color was hectic; bright spots rose up into her apple cheeks. He gulped the water gratefully and leaned back against the wall.

“Helps,” he pronounced. She shoved a small piece of candy into his palm. Starburst fruit chew, lemon.

“Leftover Halloween candy. I’m not setting out Christmas candy til this stuff is gone.” The sweet was sour enough to make his mouth water, but it helped to restore his equilibrium.

“I can manage. Just felt…overwhelmed.”

“It’s okay.” She excused herself and headed off two visitors, explaining that Mr. Howlett was working on a project and couldn’t be interrupted.

Logan stayed late enough to pack up some of his belongings and walk them out to his car. If there was ever a night to eat out, this was it. After tossing back his drinks with Mac, even three hours later, he was in no shape to drive.

He decided on the little Italian place where they served a mean sausage and peppers. It was crowded, but there didn’t look like that long of a wait in the front lobby. Odors of garlic and marinara assailed his nose. It was overpowering. His stomach churned, growling almost audibly even above the clatter of dishes being loaded into busing carts. He felt himself break out into a faint sweat.

Noise. Too…much noise. What the fuck was wrong with him?

He looked the worse for wear when the hostess peered up from her guest book to mark him down as a table for one. Her smile drooped when she saw his pallor and the strain around his dark eyes.

“Do you need to sit down, sir?”

“Just let me know when ya get me a table, sweetheart,” he rasped, retreating from her counter.

He scratched absently at his scar. It always itched when he came inside from being out in the cold, and tonight was no different. Clem said it gave him character; all Logan knew was that it was the devil to shave around every morning, trying not to nick the spidery scar tissue. At least the ones on his chest had faded and healed flat, not visible to the public beneath his dress shirts or beloved flannels.

The doctors told him he was lucky to be alive. Carol’s face had gone white the last time they met in court, aghast at the angry red line of stitches down his chin and neck. Logan had always been rugged, puckishly handsome. His looks had “character,” like Jack Palance, Robert Redford, or Paul Newman. Her friends always seemed to pull that out of their asses. In the wake of Logan’s divorce, Logan realized he’d just married too damned young.

Carol had given him nine pretty good years, or at any rate, eight and a half. He’d met her at the Black Dog, buying some hot rolls.

She’d hated this place whenever he insisted on it for his birthday. He wasn’t into large gatherings or nights on the town. It never suited him, and, he thought ironically, nor had the cottage suited Carol. It was the only time he could ever remember that **not** bugging the shit out of him.

Not that he wasn’t a night person. Logan liked moonlit walks or just heading to the beach to listen to the waves at low tide. He just didn’t thrive on “night life.” He could rent a DVD and pop his own popcorn without standing in line, and he could fast forward through the previews. He didn’t dance and he seldom drank, unless the occasion begged it, such as having his job yanked out from under him. That was worth a shot. Or three.

He remembered the first day that she’d been hesitant with her morning kiss and was evasive about when she was returning home from work. 

She stopped _giving_. Affection, time, opinions, patience, and eventually, respect. It was like staring inside the window of a candy store, unable to grab the treats that were just out of reach.

“I’ve met someone.” He’d waited, like an idiot, for her to tell him she’d simply made a new girl friend to hang out with for activities like pottery or ballroom dance. Then he saw her eyes, and his heart leapt up into his throat.

She didn’t want the house; Prince Charming came fully loaded with a Benz, a dog, and a four-bedroom split-level overlooking Quisset. It was a lot emptier now. All of the little feminine touches were gone. His Bruins fleece throw replaced the delicate afghan she’d draped over the couch. The bedroom and bathroom smelled like a man lived there, not a shred of potpourri to be found.

Roiling hunger gagged him. The cacophony of noise, of smells, sent him reeling. He sprang from his seat when the hostess called his name. He stumbled after her, but the jumble of voices and the clink of flatware and stemware battered him as he crept past. 

Before she could even hand him a menu, he fell upon the bread basket, tearing off a huge chunk of sourdough with this teeth. Her eyes widened and she laid it down, mumbling something about sending his drink server over in a couple of minutes. He ignored her, reveling in the feel of the chewy crust grinding between his teeth. It wasn’t enough, but it centered him, making the noise easier to tolerate and driving away the dizziness. He made a mental note to visit his doctor for blood work. Maybe he was just anemic. He had a late uncle who was diabetic.

“What would you like to drink, sir?”

“Water.” Not “Just water, thanks.” Not “What do you have?” Blunt, to the point, and more forceful than he intended. A vicious thirst clawed at him, competing with hunger.

He didn’t make it through the server’s spiel about the night’s special. “Steak. Rare. Biggest one you have.” The words poured out of him, etiquette be damned. “No sides.”

“We can’t cook it any less than medium, sir –“

“I want that damn thing to moo when I stick my fork into it! And hurry!”

He craved blood. He couldn’t explain it.

When the food came, he mumbled a nearly intelligible thank you and unwrapped the silverware from the napkin with shaking fingers. 

The fork practically scorched him; he might have imagined it. The first bite calmed him, spicy, tender ambrosia. He tore through it with his knife methodically, ruthlessly.

It was better than sex. And _nothing_ was better than sex.

He was licking the last of the bloody juices from his fingers (having given up on utensils more than halfway through the meal, gnawing on the bone) when the bill was slapped down on the table. His server was out of sight before he even offered the dessert menu. Logan didn’t care. He was sated.

He was also sober enough to drive home. The night air felt crisp, invigorating him and lightening his steps. He’d felt _starved_ for it.

~0~

 

“I liked the other cover better,” Ororo complained.

“It’s not up to you.” Ali took back the camera-ready artwork from her and tucked it back into its folder. 

“Then why show me at all?”

“So you can tell your friends what it’s gonna look like printed, and they can buy a copy when it comes out,” Ali shrugged, grinning at her. Ororo toyed with her coffee, stirring the whipped cream with her straw until it was a soupy froth.

“I just got the edits back yesterday.”

“And?”

“They might as well have handed me a Dick and Jane primer and sent me back to school.” The redlining had been ruthless. Her manuscript was practically bleeding, but Ororo had to admit, the story was cleaner and her prose took no prisoners.

“So it sounds like they caught everything!” Ali turned back to her calendar. “Oooooh, Ororo, I meant to tell you, I’m having a wine and cheese party at my place on Saturday.”

“Mmmmm. That’s nice.”

“I’m expecting a pretty good turnout. Are you free?”

“Maybe.” She waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Annnnnddd I’ve got this friend I’d like you to meet.”

“I just remembered, Al, I’m busy.” Ali tsked.

“Spoilsport.”

“Sue me.”

“You’ve gotta get back out there.”

“My heart belongs to Giblet now.”

“That sounds like a copout if I ever heard one.”

“She doesn’t leave the toilet seat up.”

“Come to the party. It’ll be fun, whether you like him or not.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” she hedged.

“Bullshit. You walked out of Filenes’ door with half the store in your bag. Wear the red one,” she ordered.

“Al-“

“The red one!” Ororo opened her mouth to protest. “Nope!”

“But-“

“Uh-uh!”

“Al-“

“Don’t even try it, Munroe.” Then she softened. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll even be your alibi if you decide to cut out early.”

“So what’s my alibi?”

“Cramps. Hives. Gas. All of them, or take your pick.”

“Gads…” Ororo snorted into her coffee. “Evil, evil woman.”

Ali chuckled – evilly – as she shut down her PC and reached for her coat. The two women headed outside into the foggy mist and climbed into Ali’s little red Volvo.

The pizzeria was packed. Ali marched up to the pick-up counter and barked “Order for Blaire, one large pizza? We called twenty minutes ago.”

“It’ll be up in a few,” a large employee informed her. His nametag introduced him as Guido. He used the pencil tucked behind his ear to scratch an itch. Ali hoped he wasn’t the one handling the food.

Ororo scanned the headlines of the free newspaper she’d swiped from the rack. “Weird,” she remarked thoughtfully. “Look.”

“Ew. They had to put that on the front page?” The photo showed the grisly scene of a hit and run. Bits of glass from someone’s broken tail light surrounded the body of what looked like a large dog. “Why’d they even think they found a story out of that?”

“Because it’s a wolf,” Ororo murmured. “We don’t get them around here. We’re not heavily wooded, and it’s the wrong region. Look how big it is, Al.”

“I don’t even wanna think about what it was eating.”

“That’s just weird,” Ororo repeated. The photographer zeroed in on the creature’s face; it’s vacant eyes seemed to stare back at her, silver and icy cold. Chills ran down her back. She took one last glance at the photo and chucked it back into the rack. Guido called Ali’s order, and they made haste back to her office. The pizza box warmed Ororo’s lap.

“It smells like they put onions on it. I hate onions.”

“Pick ‘em off. Or give ‘em to me, I love ‘em.” 

“Just don’t kiss me with that mouth.”

“You wish.”

Several hours later, Ororo went back over the edits over her usual cup of cocoa. Giblet took up residence on her lap once she leaned back from her desk to clean her glasses.

She checked her email. There were only a handful that looked like they were from real people. She opened Ali’s first. It was an e-vite for her wine and cheese party, closing with “P.S. – Wear something hot!”

“Sheesh.” She scanned through nearly a page of spam and checked the boxes to delete them, and she was surprised to see another unread message flash at her from an address it took her a moment to recognize: giftedshaman@tribaltech.biz.

Forge. Damn it.

The urge to delete it lost out to insatiable curiosity.

_Hi._

_Thought about you yesterday when I went out to the aquarium that you loved that time that we went. They got a new whale named Tiny. Boston’s pretty cold already. Looks like we’re in for a bitter winter._

_I just wanted to get in touch with you. It’s been a long time. I’m still working out of that space I rented off of Main._

_Reply to this if you want, or call my cell. I miss you._

_The ball’s in your court._

_JS_

She sighed wearily and rubbed her eyes. Giblet meowed plaintively, nudging her in the armpit with her paw and nosing her chin. She applied the cat to her shoulder like a hot compress and scratched her ears.

“Men suck, Giblet.”

“Meowr.”

“Glad we’re on the same page. Let’s eat.”

Ororo headed into the kitchen and fixed herself a microwavable dinner that promised to be flavorless, and she popped open a can of Fancy Feast and shoveled it into Giblet’s bowl. She dispatched it like she’d never seen food before.

While her food was being nuked, Ororo wandered to her picture window and stared out at the waves, listening to the wind stir the beach grass. She still had that strange feeling of foreboding that she had two nights ago.

Something, or someone, was out there.


	4. Watching You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ororo is attacked, and she meets her mysterious savior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still copying this a piece at a time from the Realm. No clue when I will finish it.

Damned magnetic strip picked tonight not to work. Damn it.

Ororo rubbed the back of her debit card against the sleeve of her wool coat, attempting to clean it and try again. She was three months away from the card’s expiration date, and she was too lazy to order a new one from the bank. So that meant the usual song and dance at every store and check stand, waiting for annoyed clerks to manually key in her 16 digits and run it like a credit card. It wasted time, it wasted fees, and it wasted patience.

The only consolation she had was that it was making her a few minutes later for Ali’s party.

Ororo stomped her feet in an attempt to restore some sensation to her frozen toes. So far Ororo had evaded myriad rain puddles that threatened to ruin her new red pumps from Macy’s on her way to Ali’s gorgeous Colonial off Menahaunt. 

Stars dotted an inky sky; the moon was three-quarters full, resembling a partially eaten cheese wheel. Within mere days, it would be bright enough to illuminate her stretch of beach without using a flashlight. Too bad it would also be cold enough to not want to take a moonlit stroll by then.

Ororo keyed in the last digit of her code twice by accident with her gloved fingers. “Shit,” she hissed impatiently. It was difficult to see in the dim light of the ATM vestibule.

That made her a prime target.

She was busily re-entering the code when the scratch of booted footsteps came up behind her. “Don’t. Move.” A sudden rush of adrenaline made her skin crawl as fear knotted her gut.

“What? Wait…please, don’t do this!”

“Don’t worry about it, honey, I’m not gonna do a thing if you cooperate. Gimme the bag. Now!” Something steely and sharp prodded her through her coat. She fumbled with the strap of her purse with shaking hands. She tried to steal a glance over her shoulder through the small security mirror. “Eyes front, bitch!” His voice was gritty and hoarse, and he sounded slightly young. They were both of a size, judging from the direction of his voice. Her heart hammered as she heard cars heading away from the drive-up teller, on the opposite side of the building. They were too far from the street, and the lot was empty.

“You don’t want to do this! Take my bag, but don’t hurt me.” The knife prodded her again; her purse thumped against her back as she felt her hair being bunched into a knot and savagely yanked. Her eyes stung from the discomfort and the icy air.

“Go on. Take it out. All of it.” Her fingers were still shaking as she finished the transaction. “That’s a good girl. Don’t do anything smart.” Some mad urge to argue with him mingled with terror: Did he mean don’t do anything _stupid?_ Her mind ran through different scenarios as he jerked her aside, pinning her roughly against the machine’s hard edge. Her cheek was abraded by the cold metal and brick as he reached down for the cash and wadded it up, shoving it into his pocket. A prayer sprang from her lips.

“Oh, God, please!” she sobbed. The words jumbled together in her mind as she pushed futilely at the wall. He rammed her more firmly into it, knotting his fingers more deeply into her hair.

“I like it when you beg,” he informed her smugly. “Don’t stop yet. Bet yer a tasty bitch, arentcha?”

If she tried to run, she could fall, and he could hurt her. If she screamed, he could hurt her.

If she obeyed him and allowed him to drag her away, he could kill her.

 

~0~

Dinner and a movie with Jack. That was Logan’s only plan for the night.

He’d chucked the plastic bag holding his DVD onto the passenger seat; _The Italian Job_ didn’t lose anything with repetition. His takeout was steaming the windows of his car as he ventured inside the liquor store. He nodded to the clerk, who looked bored as he perused a sudoku book.

He thunked the whiskey bottle onto the counter and reached for a pack of spearmint Altoids and a _Times._ The newsprint smell mingled with the odors of day-old pastry, cigars and beef jerky by the register. The clerk went back to his numbers after ringing him up and waving him off.

He still had to pack up the cottage before the movers came. All of the good memories it held for him were dashed the night he was attacked. His scar itched, practically burning, whenever he thought about it. 

Something caught his eye in his rearview just as he crunched the key into the ignition. Something white, rippling in the wind. He squinted as he tried to make the source of that motion, in the bank parking lot across the street. It always annoyed him how badly lit that building was, in the neighborhood where it was situated. Then again, the liquor store block wasn’t any better.

It was a woman, garbed in a navy blue coat. Logan tsked under his breath.

“Doesn’t have the common sense God gave a friggin’ mouse. Couldn’t just use the drive-up.” That didn’t stop him from watching her from his vantage point. It wasn’t like he was in a rush to get home.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw another figure, wrapped in concealing clothes and with a hood and scarf obscuring his face coming up behind her, too damned close to be standing in line for the ATM. It was dark, that lot was empty, and she was alone.

“Motherfucker,” Logan snarled, jamming his car into reverse, heedless of the car waiting for his space. He ignored the staccato blares of the horn and the man giving him the finger from the driver side window.

An ugly sight greeted him as he pulled into the bank’s parking lot. His highbeams bathed the two figures in yellow light. He couldn’t hear what the man was saying, his words were garbled through Logan’s window, but the woman’s posture was slumped and he could see her struggling. 

Rage colored his vision when he saw her being flung against the side of the ATM console. He didn’t wait for a plan to break through the urgent need to tear the man apart.

He smelled blood. It didn’t process with him that it was impossible. He could almost taste it.

Ororo’s mugger dimly heard the screech of tires from the lot’s rear entrance as he began dragging her from the vestibule. She smelled expensive, a mixture of hair products and a light, spicy perfume. He could tell despite her heavy coat that she was stacked and had legs that went all the way up.

Her fear made him lick his lips. He could feel her pulse racing, hearing her tiny cries.

She finally snapped, hearing like he did the car headed in their direction. “HELP MEEEEEEEEE! GOD, PLEASE HELP! HE’S HURTING ME! HELP!” Her screams were snatched out of her mouth by the strong gusts of wind. The point of the knife suddenly pressed against her jugular, and she felt the faint burn as he scraped her flesh, drawing blood.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH! SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP!” Her face was twisted in anguish and pain, and tears made her eyes smart and her nose run. She was stumbling and falling over her own high-heeled shoes. He kicked her to get her moving again, knocking her off-balance.

The car she’d heard wasn’t parking in the lot. It was headed straight for them, practically slamming the brake line as it cleared two speed bumps without so much as a pause.

“Let me go,” she whimpered. “Please –“

Logan’s hand jerked open the handle and his legs lunged out, nearly avoiding a sprain as his feet pounded the slick, shining asphalt.

Her attacker’s knife gleamed. “Just step off. Don’t make me do it. Get back! NOW!” His voice lacked confidence, even though the man rushing toward him was several inches shorter than him and a few years shy of middle age.

Nearly black eyes glared at him, freezing him in his tracks. The woman’s lips quivered, but he saw them mouth _Help me_ as she jerked in the man’s iron grip, clawing at him. She gave him permission, despite the blade trained at her throat. A long, wicked cut oozed blood down her cheek.

“Put it down, asshole. Let her go.” His voice was hard, almost guttural. His fists clenched, large and thick. He looked like a beast, body coiled and ready to spring at its prey.

“I said get the fuck back, didn’t I? Are ya deaf, old man?!”

“I can hear ya just fine,” Logan rumbled. And it was true.

He could hear the man’s heart skip a beat, underscored by the churning in his gut. He smelled his sweat, sudden and sour despite the cold night.

She squeezed her eyes shut and moaned hoarsely, right before jerking her back directly into her captor’s nose.

“SHIT!” His bellow was ragged, and he brutally shoved Ororo away, dashing her to the ground. She fell hard, hitting her head before she could catch herself. Everything went black.

She never saw her savior’s face change. It would have chilled her and kept her up through every remaining night of her life if she had.

Jagged fangs pushing through Logan’s gums were one of the last sights the mugger had before Logan fell upon him, faster than he could blink. The knife clattered uselessly to the ground as he reared back and tried to flee. Ororo’s purse was already lying forgotten on the ground beside her as the dampness beneath her soaked into her coat and hair.

“Don’t,” he croaked. “DON’T! I let her go, man, get back! I’m warning y-“ He ran, turning his back on the sight of the man with murder written in his eyes. He tripped, stumbling to his knees. Before he could get up, a large foot planted itself squarely in the middle of his back. He felt the air crushed from his chest as he was ground into the asphalt, pinned. His arms flailed ineffectively, trying again and again to push himself up.

“How d’ya like that, asshole? Don’t feel too fuckin’ good, eh? Ya like pushin’ around women? Hurtin’ ‘em?” He was yanked up, finally, and rolled over until he faced him again. The mugger’s scarf slipped free from his face, unshaven and pocked with scars. 

His lips were trembling.

“N-no, just wait, man! I didn’t…I mean, she was…she was askin’ for it, bein’ out tonight like that! I just needed some cash-“

“Ya need yer ass kicked,” Logan growled, balling his fist in the man’s ragged sweatshirt collar and jerking him up until they were nose to nose. The mugger could smell his breath, steaming out from bared – sharp – teeth. His black eyes took on an eerie, golden cast and he felt his bladder release, soaking the legs of his battered jeans. Logan felt disgust and a keen sense of satisfaction. “Tell me yer never gonna go after a woman again. That yer never gonna hurt one again…”

“Please,” he begged, feeling his heart twist. He was dizzy, his air nearly cut off from the strangling snare of his taut collar.

Logan banged him back on the ground. His head hit the pavement with a sickening thud, knocking the wind out of him. He was still dazed when Logan brought him back up, staring at him thoughtfully. Sizing him up.

Licking his lips.

Nausea roiled in the thief’s stomach as Logan’s now gaping maw closed around his vulnerable throat, sinking his teeth into his flesh.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!” He wheezed, seeing stars and spots, his vision hazy as he tried to maintain equilibrium. 

Logan jerked his head, snapping it back and forth, never letting go of his prey. He worried him viciously, practically snapping his neck, pronouncing himself dominant in their struggle. The man’s blood was tangy as copper, the scent scorching him, waking something inside him that he couldn’t name.

_Don’t come here again._ He hadn’t spoken the words allowed. The man continued to flop, this time due to a lack of strength as Logan abandoned interest in the blood pulsing from his jugular. It dribbled from his neck and Logan’s lips, staining the ground beneath them. He ebbed in and out of consciousness.

“Beggin’ you…pleazzzzzzz…lemme…go,” he sobbed. Logan ripped him away from himself, staring into his face. Droplets of blood flecked his cheek. He dropped him, stunned.

“Shit!” The strange gold light left his eyes as he raised his hand to his lips. His fingers came away streaked in blood, making him dizzy. The thief backed away from him, crawling on his elbows and dragging his ass as quickly as he could move.

“Yer fuckin’ crazy, man!” he rasped before he fell back, finally rolling onto his belly and rising shakily to his feet. He ran, never stopping to press the walk light at the intersection. He loped right into traffic, and cars screeched and honked to let him pass.

Logan could only stand there, shaking. Every drop of rage left him. Cold air bit at him and brought him back to his senses.

All of the sounds around that were so vivid before calmed, bathing him in a strange fugue. His feet turned him and quickened their steps, bringing him back the woman lying on the ground.

He was gentle, hesitantly drawing back the curtain of white hair – white, he realized with shock – covering her face. He sucked in a breath. The cheek she’d scraped during her scuffle before was facing up, telling him that she’d landed on the unmarked side of her face this time, promising a wicked bruise.

He was already fumbling in his pocket for his cell when a low whimper escaped her.

“Miss? Are ya all right? Miss!” He prodded her arm, trying not to jostle her too much. “Can ya talk ta me? Just be okay, damn it!” Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened eyes that were dazed and glassy.

And blue. A vibrant blue, even in the faint street lights.

They flitted back and forth, peering all around before focusing on the face hovering over her, filled with concern. She frowned at the strange substance staining the corners of his mouth. She couldn’t make out what it was. She tried to push herself up, but the ground spun when she tried.

“Don’t! Easy, sweetheart, it’s okay.” Logan jerked off his muffler, sighing that it was all he had, and he wadded it up, carefully nudging it beneath her cheek to protect her from the damp asphalt.

“Hurts. Wha’ppened?”

“Mugger. Shoved you on the ground. He was gonna hurt ya a lot worse.”

“Mugged…oh, God. Did…did he take…? She left the question dangling when he held up her discarded purse. “Took money. Made me take it out.”

“Ya can look inside it when yer up to it, darlin’, and make sure he didn’t get anything like yer keys. Or yer ID. Rest. Stay put.” He was dialing his cell and he licked his lips, cracking from the cold.

He tasted blood. His back was turned from her as he rose, struggling to wipe it away. Finally he spat, ridding himself of it’s foulness and wiping the rest on his coat’s lapel.

“Did he hurt you?” she cried.

“M’fine. Just rest.” He heard the operator asking him how she could help him.

“I need an ambulance. Right here by the bank in the strip mall off Main. I’ve got a woman lyin’ here hurt. She was mugged.” He dialogued with her for two more minutes before hanging up and resuming his vigil.

“What’s yer name?”

“Ro. I go by ‘Ro.”

“That yer full name, darlin’?” She shook her head and winced at the pain it caused.

“Munroe. Ororo.” He grunted thoughtfully. It was nice. It fit her.

“I’m Jim Howlett. Call me Logan, if ya want.”

“Mmmmnnh…” Her eyes drifted shut, but her breathing was even. He took her limp hand in his strong grip, stroking her fingers with his thumb. A slender trickle of blood that he hadn’t noticed before on her neck enraged him all over again, but he mastered it.

He was detailed and gruff when the paramedics and the police showed up minutes later.

 

~0~

“She said she was only gonna be a few minutes late,” Ali reasoned from her well-appointed kitchen as she arranged crackers and cheese around a bowl of dip before handing the good-looking, slender man beside her the tray.

“A few minutes means an hour in Remy’s dictionary, petit,” he drawled. “Might be primpin’ extra hard.”

“Please. Not ‘Ro. She’s coming out of the goodness of her heart. And for my sparkling wit. I’m trying to fix her up,” she admitted.

“Wit’ who?”

“Him. The one with Ivy League and old money written all over him.” She nodded, urging him toward the edge of her doorway. A tall man in tailored slacks and a black silk shirt lounged by the mantle, chatting politely with two young women who were hanging on his words.

“Thought those were brand name labels,” Remy mused. Ali elbowed him, tsking at his cheek.

“He’s nice. Well-heeled, educated, and decent. ‘Ro’s gonna go nuts over him.”

“Den why don’t you date him, Ali?”

“I’m not doing this for me, I’m doing it for her. It’s not that I don’t like him, or I wouldn’t fix them up.” Then she murmured “And I’m not really ready to start anything again, anyway.”

“Neither’s Ororo, petit.”

“Oh, hush. Open the salsa, will you?”

“What business is he in?”

“Works for AlphLight. Just took over a department when they booted the last guy.” Ali was sweetness and light as she swept into her living room and greeted him. The women gathering around him parted like curtains as she trilled “More wine, ‘Tro?”

“Please.” His cheeks dimpled as he gave her a winning smile and handed her his goblet. “Your home is beautiful, Alison.”

“I do my best,” she assured him, but she beamed as she went to fetch the sauvignon blanc. Butterflies took wing in her stomach.

The women were circling around him like vultures, ignoring her other male guests. Where the heck was Ororo?

She had just handed him his glass when her phone rang in the kitchen. She excused herself hastily and spun in a swirl of midnight blue panne velour to answer it.

“Hello?” she announced breathlessly. “Ororo?” she ventured hopefully.

“Al,” moaned the voice, sounding broken and chilling her.

“Ororo?” She lowered her voice and strode toward the back of the kitchen. Remy caught the change in her tone and hovered, trying to hear her end of the conversation. “Where are you, sweetie?”

“Al, I’m in the E/R,” she rasped. “I was attacked.”

 

~0~

_She was going to a party tonight. She was dressed in black. It was his favorite._

_She kept the cat inside, he mused. She spoiled the little wretch. He’d have to fix that._

_He fingered the rolled-up newspaper for a moment before trekking up her front walk and tossing it onto the stoop._

_She wasn’t back yet. He wondered where she was spending the night. He’d fix that, too._

_It was late. He’d see her tomorrow._


	5. Recollections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ororo, meet Logan. Logan, meet Ororo.

“Hold still. Quit squirming like that.”

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” Ali muttered.

“S’okay.”

“Man, Ororo, that jerkoff messed you up real good.” Ali chucked the swab aside as she replaced the bandage over the long wound on her face. She moved to put away the ointment and vitamin E oil until Ororo stopped her.

“Ali…I’m so sorry. Your party, and calling you in the middle of it all. I was running late. I wanted to stop and pick up an extra bottle of wine.” Ali gnawed her lip and tried to shape calm, soothing words.

She failed miserably.

“What the freakin’ hell were you THINKING, ‘Ro? WINE??? You’re out in a deserted lot in the dark, and you get mugged, no, nearly KILLED over a bottle of wine? I – I don’t know what to say. Every time I think about it, it upsets me more.”

Ororo settled back into the couch cushions and sighed wearily. “I know I deserve that.”

“You really didn’t want to meet him, did you? The guy I wanted you to meet?”

“Al! Sheesh. That’s a little extreme! I get cold feet about a blind date-“

“Fix-up. It’s not a date if you show up at the same party,” Ali insisted. “Ororo, you know I love you to death. But please, be straight with me. Did you stall showing up here because you didn’t want to meet him?”

“No,” she replied hastily. Ali gave her a mulish look. “I mean it, Al. Can we drop it?”

“Okay. I’m getting you another compress. Don’t budge.”

“No, ma’am,” Ororo agreed, saluting her. Giblet followed close on her heels. Her cat adored Ali, who promised them both a place to crash.

Ororo was stretched out on Alison’s couch, draped in a thick wedding ring quilt and wearing borrowed fuzzy slippers. She’d had a hard night.

~0~

Tears made her eyes smart as Ali hurried into Ororo’s recovery room. Her best friend’s eyeliner was smudged and her cheeks were ruddy from the cold. She smothered her in a protective embrace, mindful of the bandage on her cheek and the ugly bruise darkening her skin. “Remy’s in the lobby,” she murmured. “I was so worried, sweetie!”

“I scared myself,” Ororo admitted in a small voice. She winced as she laid back against the meager pillow. “Ow.”

“Give me your keys…wait. Did he take them?”

“No.” She grunted as she reached for her purse, but Ali beat her grab and handed it to her. “Here.”

“I’ll take care of the car. Might as well make Remy useful.”

“Quit picking on him.”

“He’s worried sick. Expect another lecture. But he’s gonna have to stand in line.” Ali’s face softened as she took Ororo’s hand in hers. Her skin was icy; she hadn’t enough time to grab her gloves before she hastily excused herself from her own party. Her guests made quiet goodbyes as they filed out to unblock Ali’s driveway. Pieto kissed her cheek; she was too harried to enjoy it.

“Give her my regrets. And my best,” he offered smoothly. Remy grunted at her to shake a leg.

Once Ororo was signed out, Ali turned into a drill sergeant. From the moment she bundled her into the passenger sear of her little Volvo, she ran a nonstop string of errands. Ororo’s house for clothes and Giblet’s food. The pharmacy for Ororo’s Vicodin. The supermarket for an emergency supply of cookies and herbal tea.

She was still patching her up. Vicodin, Ororo decided, was _goooooooooood_.

Ali came back with the compress and a mug of cocoa, old-fashioned and smelling faintly like cinnamon. Ali, too, was a stickler.

“Go to work,” Ororo encouraged.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ve got Giblet to babysit me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You don’t want to tackle that slush pile and your rejection letters.”

“Brat. You’re a sadist to me, after I take you in, then abandon me to purgatory.”

“Can’t save you from it, Al. I’m all out of miracles.”

“No, you’re not.” Ali leaned down and kissed her temple, nudging aside the compress. “Thank God you’re safe, ‘Roro.” Then a light went on in her aquamarine eyes. “Hold up.”

“What?”

“Here.” Ali crossed the room and grabbed a rolled-up paper. “Reading material.”

“I didn’t see that with the stuff you got at the store.”

“I didn’t. You were passed out til we reached your house. Your paper was on your front step.” Ororo frowned.

“Weird.”

“Why weird?”

“My carrier always leaves it in the mailbox.” Ugly prickles ran down her neck. Ali’s brow furrowed before she reminded her to call if she needed anything.” She scribbled Remy’s cell on a Post-It and stuck it on the refrigerator door. Giblet took up residence on her lap and purred like a motor.

 

~0~

**Three days later:**

“Damn it,” Logan muttered, staring at the clock. Glaring red, digital numbers flashed “2:15” at him, mocking him as he rubbed his eyes. Shit.

He bundled himself into his robe, heedless of the cold night. The floorboards of his porch creaked beneath him and bit into his bare feet. He tugged his Cuban from his pocket and lit up, snapping his pearl-handled Zippo shut.

The smoke no longer seized his chest for that single, seductive moment when he drew it into his lungs. He’d exhausted a steady supply of stogies since Carol made her announcement that she was leaving him.

_I did that. I nearly ripped out that fucker’s throat._ The thought wouldn’t leave him alone, dogging him into sleep. Just as intense was the memory of the woman’s face. Helpless, pleading to him. And strangely, trust. For him. It unnerved him.

He’d been too caught up to study her as much as he’d liked. Her looks intrigued him. He wondered if it was a trick of the light that her eyes were that shade of blue, or that her hair was brilliant white.

Her hand was limp and chilled when he held it, offering what comfort he could.

“I was scared,” she rasped, turning her face toward him even though the effort was painful.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Ya shouldn’t have had ta go that,” he grimaced. “I was across the street. Saw you struggle. Didn’t look good from where I sat.” He didn’t mention that he just finished buying liquor. 

Tonight, Logan tripped over his empty J.D. bottles on his way outside. Housekeeping took a back seat to looking for another job, pension be damned. He needed his livelihood.

Shit, he needed something to live for at all. _Anything._

“You could have been hurt,” she whispered. “I was scared for you, too.” Anguish twisted her features. His touch was gentle as he stroked her hair. He needed to soothe her; he took as much comfort from the gesture, rejoicing that she was alive.

Her hair looked as though someone spun it from moonlight. It was cool and slid through his fingers like water. “Yer all right now.” The words burned him.

He didn’t leave the scene until the paramedics took her away. Her eyes still looked worried and frightened as they stared back at him as they rolled her stretcher up the ramp.

“It’s okay,” he called out. “Yer gonna be okay, darlin’.” Her hand reached out for him briefly before she dropped it, but her face looked more serene.

The doors closed, and that was the last he saw of her.

He still tasted the mugger’s blood. And it awaked that beast. It reared its head and snarled in defiance every time he closed his eyes.

He was still hungry. The sight of the plastic-wrapped chuck steaks he reached for at the Stop n’ Shop nearly drove him into a frenzy. He could write his check for his groceries fast enough, skipping half the items on his list.

He just remembered ripping the meat from its packaging, dashing it under the sink and tearing it with his teeth. Thin, red juices leaked from his mouth; it was tepid and well marbled with fat, sliding seductively across his tongue. He threw aside disgust and revulsion as he gulped it down, sinking his fingernails and teeth into its flesh…

He sank to the floor, sated once more. He was trembling. He tossed the sloppy pink hunk of gristle and fat onto the floor and stood to dispose of the Styrofoam carton and plastic.

Then he caught sight of his face reflected in the kitchen window, thrown into stark relief by the setting sun.

Blood streaked his face, evidence of his pagan feasting and utter abandon of self-control.

He retched it all back up into the sink.

Once his kitchen was cleaned, he meandered into his living room and tsked when he noticed his housekeys still dangling in the lock. He watched _Law and Order_ reruns until the wee hours with no luck. Sleep still escaped him, and he fixed himself a medicinal – huge – glass of whiskey. Followed by another. And another. He finally drifted off, but it struck him that he didn’t have so much as a buzz.

_Don’t. DON’T!_

_How do ya like that, asshole? Don’t feel too fuckin’ good, eh?_ He didn’t want to let him go. Naked terror shone from the thief’s eyes. Triumph swelled in Logan’s gut. It was heady, powerful, and he wanted more.

The thief was _prey._

He cried out as he woke, sitting bolt upright and shaking. His sweat slicked his body and already felt cold. The smell of whiskey leaked out of his pores, gagging him.

Now the crisp air buoyed him, making him feel cleansed and – almost – human.

Sensation rocked him. Something called to him, singing in his veins, so loud he couldn’t ignore it.

He stubbed out his cigar on the steps and shucked his robe. Dry leaves crunched beneath his bare soles, welcoming him into the darkness. Almost wantonly, he struggled out of his sleep shirt, flinging it onto the ground, leaving him clad only in his boxers. Being bare was heady and stimulating. The sounds and scents kissed his flesh, beckoning to him.

He strode into the thicket behind his house, nonplussed by the thick branches and indeterminate dirt path. The long strides became a jostling gallop. Then he ran. For the sheer pleasure of it, he _ran._ The rush of cold air scorched his throat and lungs.

Branches slapped his flesh wickedly, tempting him, feeding the needs of the beast to roam.

To hunt.

Exposed roots and thick shrubs weren’t obstacles to him. He never broke speed, racing against an invisible rival for his rights to the night. Darkness stroked him.

The waxing moon gazed down upon him like an indulgent lover.

_Soon._

 

~0~

_She was going through her closet again, taking out that long red dress. She held it up, obscuring his view of her lithe body wrapped in demure flannel pajamas. He saw her smile hesitantly at her reflection in the full-length, antique mirror before she hung it neatly from a hook on the wall._

_He’d read the second page of the Arts and Entertainment section in the _Chronicle._ Not hers, this time. Her signing was tomorrow afternoon. He wondered if her bubbly friend would be there. She made it hard to get close to her._

_Whenever she cracked her window, he caught the scent of her cocoa. Even in a messy ponytail and reading glasses, she shone like an angel._

_Murderous rage clouded his vision when he first saw the bruise and the ugly red slash across her smooth cheek. He wanted to soothe it. Stroke it. Feel the puckered flesh when the scabs began to heal. It was precious. It was her only flaw. She was, truly, perfect._

_That damned cat. She’d flicked her tail at him warily when he gazed inside the window that morning to deliver her paper._

_She extinguished the bedroom light. She might as well have turned off the sun._

 

~0~

Pavement-pounding. That’s what they called it back in his day, Logan mused.

The young people called it “getting yourself out there.” Marketing yourself. Networking. Sheesh.

Fancy labels didn’t keep it from being a pain in his ass. The handle of his attaché case grew slippery within his perspiring grip.

His business clothes seemed to chafe him. His senses went into overdrive. He was aware of every follicle of hair on his body. He felt the most minute bulge and ripple of muscles working beneath his skin. He skipped his trench coat. Cold didn’t seem to bother him anymore.

He craved the night once more. Sunlight irritated him, shining down into his eyes.

He still picked out every detail around him. Everything stood out in stark relief. The pores of the clerk who sold him his morning cup of coffee. The weave of the nubby wool dress the receptionist wore in the last office he entered to speak to the recruiter. _From fifteen feet away._ Street signs, _fifteen miles away._

The cacophony of blaring horns and traffic once again closed in on him, but he was growing accustomed to it, learning to hone in on the ones that mattered to him.

He liked heartbeats best. They soothed him.

He ducked into an indoor street mall through the parking garage ramp, needing to clear his head in the blessed shadows. He tossed his empty cup into the garbage as he emerged into the broad court strewn with colorful banners.

A blind woman’s guide dog rose to its feet as he passed, ears swiveling up and tail thumping in greeting. She gestured to it to make the animal settle down. It did, albeit reluctantly, staring after Logan with mournful eyes.

He indulged himself, peering in through the windows of Radio Shack and Sharper Image. He stopped at a men’s room to finally unknot his tie, groaning in relief. He savagely threw the torture device into his case, glad to be rid of it.

There were people milling about near the bookstore, forming what looked like a line. He made out the title – the title – of the books many women clutched in their hands, chattering eagerly: _Only Once._ He was several stores down the wide corridor and decided, what the heck. Why not?

The entire line seemed to be squirming in anticipation. All over a measly book, he marveled. He couldn’t recall off the top of his head even one title on the bestseller list that interested him enough to pick it up. Logan preferred the classics. Once in a while, he still re-read _The Fisherman and the Sea_ or _Hamlet._ Carol had taken her entire bookcase full of chick lit with flowers and heaving bosoms on the covers with her, thank God. He saw more of Fabio than he wished on that damned bookcase.

He sifted through the myriad sets of heartbeats, searching for one steady rhythm to distract him from the wait. The line creeped along slowly but steadily. His feet throbbed inside his hard leather Italian shoes.

A light fragrance tickled his nose. Subtle. Fleeting. He sniffed. Sandalwood, mingled faintly with ginger and chamomile. He couldn’t trace its source. While focused himself on it, a woman behind him nudged him to close the five-foot gap between him and the customer in front of him.

He neared the large display poster clipped to an easel by the store’s windows. 

**Bestselling Author Ororo Munroe’s Newest Triumph, Only Once, on sale NOW!**

His heart hammered in his chest. He couldn’t swallow past the excitement choking him.

_Her._

He felt euphoric. He no longer felt the floor beneath his feet as he reached for one of the books on the tall stack at the end of the table. He waited for the crowd to part so he could see her.

He was getting closer to that addictive scent.

A slender brown hand reached out to take the hardcover tome and sign the inside of the jacket. He heard husky laughter. _He took her limp hand in his strong grip, stroking her fingers with his thumb._

He reached her. She sat graceful and resplendent in the cranberry red, cashmere dress with long sleeves and a scooped neckline. Her white hair was a froth of waves, held back from her face with a tortoiseshell clip. She was just handing off a signed edition to the customer before him, preemptively asking “Who would you like me to make this…” Her words failed her.

Dark eyes bore into hers. Time stood still.

“Holy shit,” he rasped hoarsely.

“Oh, my God,” she agreed breathlessly.


	6. Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A full moon. A walk on the beach. A stranger in the dark...

“You write.” His voice sounded dumbstruck to his own ears.

“You’re here,” she pointed out, equally shocked. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Logan felt impatient eyes boring into the back of his head as the crowd shifted, waiting their turn for a signature.

“So…who would you like this made out to, er…”

“Logan.”

“Logan.” Her smile started slowly but unfolded gracefully, blossoming until it lit her whole face.

Calling her beautiful was like calling the Taj Mahal a house.

“Uh. That’s it. Make it out ta me. I’m, uh, buyin’ a copy.”

“Okay.” She reluctantly tore her gaze from his face – rugged, earnest, and thoroughly appealing – and bowed to the book he handed her, Sharpie fine point in hand. Her signature was small and angular except for the broad curve of the ‘O’ in her first name. From upside down, it was difficult to make out the words as he loomed over her. _That_ surprised him, considering his vision of late. Striking, articulate, and the proud owner of sloppy penmanship. Who knew?

“Here.” She clapped the book shut and handed it to him, holding it a moment too long. 

She itched to touch him. He held the hardcover close to himself, absently stroking the glossy jacket with his thumb as he continued to drink his fill of her. Those eyes. Lips. Those soft, luscious curves wrapped lovingly in red cashmere.

That _scent._ That _heartbeat._ It was _her._

And that rhythm, so steady moments before, quickened. Her scent was tinged with something warm and captivating. _Pheromones._

“I’ll, uh, let ya go. Ororo.” He got it right this time. The poster and book cover helped. He’d never forget that face, name be damned.

“Right. Okay. I’ll see…I mean, goodbye, Logan. Good seeing you. And…thank you.” She swallowed roughly. “Thank you so much, Logan.” Her mouth went dry as she indulged in one last, long look. _Don’t go. Please._ The line behind him wasn’t getting any shorter.

“Yer welcome.” He felt as though he were slogging through half-dried cement as he dragged himself to the cash register set up outside the store. The book was tucked neatly into a green plastic bag; he merely grumbled “Sure” when they asked if he wanted the receipt in it.

Between signatures, she followed his smooth, rolling gait down the corridor.

He was dressed all wrong. The suit was well-cut and fit him like a glove, but it was at odds with the man wearing it. In her mind’s eye, she pictured him in his rough coat and soft flannel shirt. Or perhaps, she reasoned, wearing even less than that.

He’d been striking in the dark. The masculine angles and hollows of his face looming over her in the darkened lot were framed by thick, disheveled waves of hair. His eyes were dark; the light was all wrong to see what color they were before.

They looked like Coke in a glass. Intelligence and warmth shone in their depths, graced with fine laugh lines and bold, thick brows. His lips were wide, and the lower one was slightly fuller, giving him a sensual look. The top one was sharply notched, inviting – begging – to be nibbled. 

They were darker that night. Something was on his face, staining his mouth; she could have sworn it.

She continued the signing in a daze until the store manager informed her it was time to close down the display.

 

~0~

Logan drove home in a daze. He fought the urge to stare at the bag laying on his passenger seat the whole way.

His strides were long and impatient as he jogged up the front steps and jammed the key into the lock. He juggled the bag in his hands as he wriggled out of his blazer and flicked on the light to his kitchen.

His stomach growled; he bypassed the stool by his butcher block table in favor of the refrigerator door, finding some leftover spaghetti on the top shelf. He chucked it impatiently into the microwave before he finally relaxed.

Now. The book.

He scanned the cover again. Nothing remarkable. Looked like a crime drama/romance novel at first glance, one of a series, and a successful one, judging by the line winding around the corner.

The pages smelled like fresh wood pulp, that gluey “new book” smell.

_To Logan. My shining knight._

_I don’t know what I would have done. Thank you. Thank you, always._

_Ororo M._

Scribbled almost illegibly was a phone number. Euphoria washed over him just as the microwave beeped at him to take out his food.

“Shit!” His grin nearly cracked his face.

He skimmed it one-handed as he ate, twirling his pasta around an enamel-handled fork. He made a note to himself to get more of them. He couldn’t explain why the silver ones, Carol’s Noritake that she’d left behind, seemed to irritate him. He’d never had an allergy in his life. Stainless steel for him, then.

The book fell open to the back cover when he reached for a napkin. The flap of the book jacket had a black and white cameo of her face. Her eyes seemed to stroke him.

 

~0~

“You’re never gonna believe this, Al.”

“Lay it on me.” Alison’s words were garbled around a mouthful of chicken. Ororo heard her television lowering in volume when she answered her phone. Ali always seemed to like things loud.

“I saw him.”

“Who?”

“HIM, Al! The guy who chased off the asshole who mugged me!” Ali sputtered; Ororo prayed she hadn’t just made her agent and best friend choke.

“Shit! HIM! Well, why didn’t you say it was HIM??”

“You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. He showed up at my book signing.”

“Weird. Did he know who you were?”

“He remembered my name.”

“No. I mean, did he know you were a writer?”

“I guess not. That was kinda the first thing he said. ‘You write?’ It was actually cute.” Ororo’s expression was dreamy as she stirred her tea.

“You never know. He probably knew. It’s too much of a coincidence that he showed up when and where he did.”

“Sometimes a coincidence is just a coincidence,” she retorted, sudden irritation creeping into her voice.

“So what did you say to him?”

“Shit…something lame. It was just…I couldn’t make my mouth work. I was just stunned. And there were so many people, Ali! I wish I had the chance to talk to him without such a big crowd around me.”

“It’s probably fine that you were around a lot of people, ‘Ro. Keep up that habit. I worry about you.”

“Al…” Ororo heard the worry in Ali’s voice.

“You might not have made it back home, Ororo. You were all alone out there!” Ororo heard her sniffle and felt pangs of guilt. “I’m sorry. I know I’m going overboard, but still…just be careful. Humor me. Big crowds can be a good thing.”

“Not tonight. I’m putting my feet up.” Giblet purred from her lap, batting at her newspaper before she folded it aside.

“Enjoy it for now. I need you. Expect to be put to work next Thursday.”

“Why?”

“Thanksgiving, goofball! Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“Geez. Right, right…what am I bringing again?”

“Yourself. I just want you to help me set the table and arrange the flowers while I cook.”

“I could bring wine?”

“The hell you could.”

“Oh. Oops…right. Scratch the wine. What time do you want me to bring my butt over there?”

“Three. The turkey will almost be done by then and I can work on all the sides. I’m doing the pies the night before.”

“You’re organized. I’m jealous.”

“For someone who doesn’t like to cook, you still set a prettier table than I do.” Ali discovered this the Christmas before when Ororo came over to decorate the tree and garnished the table with festive mats, centerpieces, and napkins folded to resemble cranes.

“I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Do me one better. Wear that gorgeous black number.”

“I was saving it for New Year’s.”

“Dust it off for next week. You’ll knock everyone’s eyes out. One guy’s in particular.” Ororo felt her stomach knot, tingles running up her back.

“Aliiiiiiii…” she warned ominously.

“We left unfinished business that night. You never got to meet him. This is as good a time as any.”

“You’re killing me.”

“You love me anyway.” She heard Ali take another slurpy bite of dinner. “Still better than you killing me. It’ll be worth it. He’s the whole package.”

“All that and a bag of chips, huh?”

“A really, really big bag. Trust me.” Ororo sighed, then smiled.

“Fine. But this time, YOU bring the wine. Lots of it.”

“He’s good-looking. Funny, too. You’ll like him.”

“What does he look like?”

“Athletic. Tall like you. Youngish; about our age. And you’ll get a kick out of his hair!”

“Why?” Ororo wasn’t convinced, but she was intrigued.

“I ain’t tellin’. Thursday. Black dress. Don’t bring anything,” Ali warned.

“Aye, aye,” Ororo muttered before she hung up.

She didn’t tell her that she slipped Logan her phone number. She knew she’d catch hell from Ali if she did…

 

**Thursday, Thanksgiving night:**

“Al, you’ve outdone yourself. Really. Like, overdone it, if you want me to be honest. This looks spectacular,” Ororo marveled as she took the three bouquets of flowers and carried them to the first of two tables in Ali’s formal dining room. Behind her, Ali was dutifully whipping evaporated milk into a saucepan of sweet potatoes. She wore an apron over her dress for the evening, an old-fashioned June Cleaver number in ruffled calico, printed with red and green apples. It was at odds with her spiky haircut and smoky eye makeup, but she still looked beautiful.

“We’ll have a full house tonight, kiddo. Grab me the wine glasses from that cupboard, will you?” Ororo began handing down the gold-rimmed flutes one at a time. 

“Sure isn’t like the Halloween shindig,” Ororo chuckled. 

“Thank God,” Ali mused. “Otherwise we’d all be drinking out of paper cups.

The memory warmed her. They’d gotten absotively, posilutely _hammered._

Ali’s patented punch, served in a huge bowl shaped like a witch’s cauldron, had been the main culprit, along with tray after tray of Jell-O shots from bat-shaped molds.

Several games of dirty Jenga, Twister, and musical chairs later found everyone too bleary to move. Ororo corrected herself: _Adult_ musical chairs. Remy took the first turn at being the deejay in favor of watching Al make a fool of herself. In typical fashion, everyone lingered as long in front of the chairs as possible, occasionally dragging their hands across each one, bumping into each other, elbowing and tickling each other to keep the impromptu conga line moving.

Then all heck broke loose. The rules are, Ali reminded them, that there ARE no rules. Pandemonium ensued.

People fell on the floor. People ended up on each other’s laps. Butts were inadvertently groped. Body checks. Sputtering laughter. Red faces. Blatant cheating and drunken arguments over whose butt hit wood first.

It was fabulous. Ororo lost to Ali’s male secretary, Guido, who was huge. And fast. Darn it…

Ali was just drawing the pumpkin pie out of the oven to place next to two pecan ones on the sideboard when her doorbell rang.

“It’s go time,” she muttered to Ororo. “Get that, would you? My hands are full.” Mischief danced in her eyes.

“Hah! Likely story,” she replied, but she sailed over to the front door, her heels clicking against the polished floors. She reflexively smoothed her skirt before opening it.

“Hi. You must be Ororo. Ali’s told me so much about you. I’m Pietro. Pietro Maximoff.”

“Whoa…I mean, hi.” The hand that reached out to shake hers was long and slender and full of wiry strength. It was attached to a leanly muscled arm clad in an expensive wool peacoat. The owner’s face was smiling contemplatively at her with perfect teeth. “Uh…come in. Come on in, out of the cold,” she offered, chastising herself as she stepped aside to let him in. He stepped up over the threshold, revealing that he was actually taller than she was by about two inches. 

That was a plus.

It occurred to her what Ali said before about his hair. It was a startling white, almost the same color as hers. He shucked his coat smoothly, smiling at her and inquiring “Where would you like me to put this?”

“Huh?” 

“My coat?”

_Anywhere you want. As long as it’s off._ “Huh?” She didn’t know why he looked so amused. He brought a hint of the outdoors inside with him; his hair and skin smelled like fresh air and whatever cologne he had on. Then she peered down and looked at his folded coat. “Good grief. Here I am, just standing here like…never mind. Here, I’ll take that. Make yourself at home, please!” She rushed off to Ali’s den in a rush of black lace and silk. She felt his eyes following her.

“Is Ororo giving you a hard time, ‘Tro?” Ali jibed from the kitchen. 

“Not at all,” he assured her, clasping her hands as she leaned up to air-kiss his cheek. “She told me to make myself at home.”

“What’re you waiting for? Siddown!” She bustled back to the kitchen and retrieved a flute. “Wine?”

“Definitely. Something smells fantastic.” He perused the elegantly dressed tables, making a sound of approval. “I love what you did with the table.”

“Ororo did it,” she announced proudly, pressing the wine into his hand. Ororo just rounded the corner and appeared in the dining room as she said it. Pietro smiled at her again. She blushed hotly to the roots of her hair.

“Famous, talented, and stunning,” he marveled, holding her eyes from over the rim of his glass. She cleared her throat.

She had dressed carefully, taking Ali’s advice. Her black dress was softly gathered and reached just below her knees, made from layers of silk chiffon. The halter neckline plunged, leaving her shoulders bare to show the delicate black lace shrug to its best effect. Her sleek chignon revealed a slender neck and emphasized sapphire blue eyes. Sheer, iridescent black stockings caressed shapely legs.

The way he stared at her made her feel naked. It was exciting, yet…unnerving.

“Let me bring the rest of the stuff out, Ali.”

“Sit,” Ali barked.

Ororo sat.

Ali spent the next half hour answering the doorbell and administering more air kisses.

“What do you do?” she finally asked, trying not to stare too long and hard at Pietro.

“Securities. More or less.”

“Are you KIDDING?” Ali shrieked, swooping down on them when she overheard their talk. “He just started at AlphLight. He’s the director of his division. It takes most people years to move up that high! ‘Tro here’s a prodigy,” she gushed. He had the grace to look bashful.

“So what do you do, Ororo? Besides write?”

“Write. More or less,” she quipped. He grinned. She smiled back, trying to muster more small talk.

It was going to be a long night.

Ali wasn’t finished maneuvering. Couples arranged themselves around the table in neat pairs, leaving the two chairs beside Ali empty.

Pietro pulled her chair out for her before she could even blink.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She felt his breath steaming her nape, stirring the tendrils slipping loose from her bun.

“You’re welcome.” His fingers brushed her shoulder before he took his seat. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn that smugness lingered in those slate grey eyes.

It was heady, yet awkward, when she held his hand and her neighbor’s as Ali said grace.

 

~0~

Thanksgiving had never been his favorite holiday anyway, Logan reasoned. It didn’t lose any of its appeal just because he was alone.

He declined an offer from Mac to have dinner at his place, even though his wife Heather was a decent cook. Mac’s house was boisterous at best; their daughter Sarah was a stinker, inclined to tearing through the house with their two dogs and peppering him with knock-knock jokes before he could even remove his coat.

He didn’t begrudge Mac his family life. He really had no problem with it.

He just craved his own company and his own thoughts.

He’d spent his week jobhunting and meeting with a career counselor. The rest of the time was a blur.

Half the time he couldn’t remember his dreams, falling asleep or why he often felt exhausted as soon as the sun came up. He contemplated it over another chapter of the hardcover book that was slowly showing a hint of wear around the spine. He couldn’t put it down.

_You could have said you were coming,” Mick pointed out._

_“More convincing, isn’t it, with me standing here,” she replied unapologetically. “Gonna let me in?” She was already closing the gap between them before he realized she meant to come inside. He backed away and stepped aside, but she still brushed against him as though he hadn’t left her enough room._

_“What do you want, Zoe?” Her smile was lazy, seeming to stroke him._

_“You, Mick.”_

He could _feel_ her essence in the prose, in the dialogue. Logan felt foolish at the thought. He’d just met her, fer cryin’ out loud.

He rose and stretched, cracking his back as he went to the kitchen. A meager pile of dirty dishes waited for him in the sink. He tossed the remains of a baked chicken from the supermarket deli into the trash; he’d made due with boxed potatoes and bagged salad and scarfed down half of a Mrs. Smith’s pie. It was good enough. He was alone.

He felt fidgety. Restless. Before he even knew what he was doing, he chucked the sponge into the sink and reached for his coat.

He was behind the wheel of his car, driving with the window open and enjoying the breeze ruffling his hair. The sky was a smoky indigo from the clouds rolling overhead, occasionally clearing just enough for him to see the stars. The wind whipping against his face reminded him of something. Running. Cool night air. Trees…

He shook it off, turning onto the gravel road leading toward his favorite beach.

 

~0~

“Sure you don’t want to stay overnight?” Ali whispered to her as Ororo bundled herself into her coat. She was bushed. The leftovers were packed in Tupperware, the last of the dishes were done, and Ali was stockingfoot, claiming she was sick of her evening shoes. Ororo’s own feet were throbbing.

Pietro had already gone; she eschewed his offer to walk her to her car, begging off to help Ali. Ali rolled her eyes behind his back but said nothing.

“I’m beat. I need to sleep in my own bed. For the next three days.” She hugged her fiercely. “Everything was perfect, Al.”

“Even Pietro?” she prodded.

“Maybe.”

“Ro!”

“Al,” she carped back. “It’s just too soon. I just don’t know.”

“He said to give this to you.” She handed her a business card on beige stock.

“Fair enough. Just don’t give him my number til I make up my mind.”

“Wimp.”

“Nag.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. G’night.”

 

~0~

The rolling tides lured him like a beacon. He watched the foam ease back from the sand as the tide swept back out, leaving a field of glitter in its wake.

The Colonial-style house overlooking the shore was quiet; its occupant had left the porch light on, but it was far enough away that he could still see easily in the dark, illuminated only by the stars.

And the moon…it winked in and out at him from the clouds. Anticipation welled in his gut.

He felt his face tingle, his last coherent thought leaving him as fire shot through his veins.

_Pain._ It rocked him, making him taste metal, mingled with his own blood as he bit the inside of his cheek.

Excruciating.

Ragged cries were torn from his lips. He felt pressure, stabbing him as his gums erupted and throbbed, releasing rapier-sharp fangs. His skin continued to tingle and buzz, feeling as though ants crawled over and beneath his skin.

The fine hairs on his arms stood on end, then multiplied and spread, weaving themselves into a stiff, thick coat. A strange palsy seized his joints. He doubled over, trying to master guttural sobs to no avail; his muscles knotted and bulged out from his back, swelling and inflamed. Dimly he heard the faint rips of his clothing, unable to tolerate the constrictive fabric anymore and thankful, strangely, to be rid of it.

His hands shook. He grasped his temples, pressing against them to drive away the pain, somehow, to fight against the crippling sensations smothering him and swallowing him up. Nausea gripped him. He felt feverish despite the cold. His hair felt different, even as he fought against tearing it out by the handfuls. Shaggy. A tangled mass of coarse ripples, even though he’d had a haircut within the past two weeks.

“What…the fuck!” he hissed, not recognizing his voice. His vocal cords warped and constricted. His palate felt rigid and thick along the roof of his mouth, growing to accommodate his teeth. He pricked the tip of his tongue against their myriad sharp points.

He prayed for it to be over. A voice inside him growled back, _It’s only beginning._

 

~0~

Ororo pulled into her driveway, silently wondering who’d parked their car roughly a meter from her house. For a moment, it looked familiar, but she couldn’t fathom where or when she’d seen it before.

She trotted up her front walk, dying to get out of her shoes and finery. Once inside, she beckoned, “Giblet! I’ve got goodies! Here, kittykittykitty!” She rattled the plastic bag for good measure, and she heard tiny feet come running. “Hi baby, Mommy’s home.” She pawed her legs until Ororo chided her “No, get down!” to ensure the safety of her skirt from Giblet’s claws.

She dropped her coat and purse on the kitchen table and kicked off her shoes. “Damn it, that feels good,” she moaned.

She paused in the act of collecting her coffee mug when she heard odd noises coming from the shore. 

It sounded like someone was hurt. A male voice. He seemed to be…crying?

She peered at her clock. Midnight. She didn’t realize how long she’d been at Ali’s, between dinner, the obligatory party games, and the usual lingering chatter before people finally made insincere regrets and left.

It was dark. It was late. A shiver ran down her back. She should stay put…

The voice became more anguished, tearing at her. A wave of compassion sent her rummaging for her lantern and digging out her cell phone. Her nearest neighbors were about a mile away.

Logan had played the Good Samaritan for her without question. Some part of her nagged that she couldn’t turn a deaf ear, either. She heard Ali’s voice in her head screaming at her to stay put.

“Go into the room, Giblet,” she murmured as she swept outside, leaving the door unlocked.

The sand felt cool and slithered over her stockingfeet; she couldn’t be bothered to find her slippers.

The cries began again. True suffering carried to her ears with those sounds, chilling her. Whoever it was sounded hurt; she fished her cell out of her coat pocket and unfolded it, preparing to dial 911.

She descended the dunes, feeling the beach grass tickling her knees.

The full moon shone down on the water, streaking the waves with fleeting ripples of light.

She could just make out the form of a man kneeling in the sand. He was clutching at the sand, head bowed and still crying…howling? Unease settled over her, making her heart pound and a rapid pulse beat in her temples. She grew slightly dizzy and stopped, roughly a quarter of a mile away.

She mustered her courage and called out, “Are you all right? Sir? Did anything happen to you?” His cries stopped, settling to harsh breathing, like he was fighting for air. His clothing, from where she was standing, appeared tattered. Was he homeless? She lived so far out among the shore and cliffs. She’d never seen transients in her neck of the woods.

She ventured forward a few more steps, holding up her lantern. “Do you need me to call for help? Were you attacked?” Her voice was full of uncertainty. 

“Please,” he huffed. His voice rumbled into the darkness. “Please…go. Go.”

“Sir, let me call for help; you’re in pain, I don’t want…oh, my God!” She choked back a wave of terror. Her eyes grew wide as she dropped the lantern from nerveless fingers. “Oh, GOD!” She covered her mouth with her hands and bit back a scream.

He couldn’t be a man.

Almost canine teeth gleamed from his mouth, streaked with blood. Amber eyes, an animal’s eyes, glowed in the darkness, studying her. Sizing her up.

Hungry. They were _hungry._

He emitted sounds that she couldn’t describe, but they reminded her of the throaty hnk-hnk noise a lion made after it drove off invaders from its pride. 

He snarled at her, rooting her to the spot. She yelped and closed her eyes, backing away. _Please, God. Oh, please._ She heard him move, shifting the sand beneath him. He advanced one step at a time.

If she ran, he would come after her.

Her scent. The metallic smell of fear tinged it, pricking him. She shivered and edged back from him. He felt waves of self-loathing and disgust, mingled with helplessness.

The waves roared and crashed against the beach. He heard her prayers over the din.

“PleasepleasepleasepleaseohGodpleasedon’thurtme.” Silver tears raced down her cheeks.

His lips peeled back from his teeth. “Roro…” he growled.

That opened her eyes, dilating her pupils. He saw the flare of her nostrils and felt her heart beat faster than it had before.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, edging back further. His fur bristled as he advanced, still looking poised to spring on her.

He made up her mind for her, tipping his head back and emitting a long, throaty howl that rattled through her bones and nearly made her heart stop. Her answering scream was tore loud and shrill from her throat as she darted through the sand. Her lungs and muscles were burning as she scrambled up the dunes. His howl followed her; she couldn’t tell if it was any closer.

“Pleasedon’thurtmepleasedon’thurtme…” She chanted it as she stumbled to her front door, only daring to look behind her as she banged it open with her shoulder.

He, or it, hadn’t followed her. She forced the door shut with a bang and secured the lock with shaking hands. Blood roared in her ears, and she thought she’d throw up everything she’s eaten over the past few hours.

She turned off all the lights and fled to her room, locking it behind her and securing the windows. Once the shades were drawn, she hurled herself into the closet, yanking it shut.

“Meowr.” 

“Shhhh!” Her grip on the cat was stifling. “Shhhh! Hush, baby!”

The cat obeyed, hunching its shoulders as if to flee when she inadvertently squeezed her tighter. Her heart refused to slow down, vibrating within her ribcage. Cold sweat broke out over her skin. Even if the creature didn’t kill her, she’d die of a cardiac arrest.

An hour later, patrol cars’ beacons flickered across the sand, illuminating the face of her house as she spoke to the officers inside.

They never found the man on the beach. With the exception of tire tracks in the gravel, they found nothing at all.

 

~0~

 

_They nearly found me. I only wanted to watch. She’s the only thing in my life that brings me any joy, any hope. She was meant for me._

_She’s waiting for me. I can feel it. But I don’t know why she ran._

_She looked so beautiful, with her hair blowing in the wind like that. I want to plow my fingers through it._

_I want to hear her scream._


	7. Standing on End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan hunts for answers, and he fights to protect what's his. Ororo's best friend meddles in her life.

Clementine was partial to houseplants. Logan fingered the soil of the small pot of creeping Charlie and added a low drizzle of water from the tap. He hadn’t even peeled the price sticker from the bottom yet. He was late to meet Clem and Mac for lunch.

The voice mail on his home phone was cryptic. _Hasn’t been the same since you cleared out your desk. By the way, Clementine found some information that’ll open your eyes. Clear us a spot on your calendar for a lunch date._

He was just zipping up his spare jacket, a black fleece-lined corduroy number with comfortably deep pockets, when he remembered he hadn’t taken out the trash yet. Logan gathered up the kitchen trash and his recycling pile and trekked out to the garage, whistling under his breath.

It was still echoingly empty except for his tool cart and his old bike. 

“Gotta take this thing t’be washed,” he grumbled as his filthy car stared back at him. Salt water mist left the paint looking gritty and chapped; you could still tell it was a red car, but just barely. He set the Clementine’s plant on the roof and tossed both bags of trash into their respective buckets before he raised the garage door. Peering inside his car window, he tsked in disgust.

“Gotta clean it out, too. Damn.” He opened up the rear door on his side and reached for a bundle of clothes he didn’t remember taking home from work or the gym.

He wrinkled his nose. They were wet, smelling faintly of mildew, salt water and sand. He prodded the pile gingerly and sorted through them.

“There’s my other coat, he muttered sourly, turning the sleeves right-side out again until he noticed its condition.

The lining was torn, and hunks of batting were leaking from the seams. “The hell…?” Long, jagged tears in the fabric looked like it was rent by…talons. “Shit.”

He backed out of the car door and dropped the pile onto the concrete floor, peering at them in the dim light. His flannel shirt, tee and jeans weren’t in better condition. All of them were torn and showered sand over his shoes when he shook out each piece. Even his socks were balled up and filthy with wet sand. His shoes were missing. 

His tee shirt was the most disturbing. Blotches of dark, dried blood stained the collar. 

_The moon. It was huge pearl in the sky. High tide. Sand._

_Screaming. The taste of blood…_

It felt like someone socked him in the gut. His skin grew clammy and cold and the floor seemed to spin beneath him. Logan stumbled forward against his car and drew in deep, ragged breaths.

“God, please,” he whispered. “What’s happenin’ ta me?”

It took him a few minutes to compose himself. He shoved the ruined clothing and jacket into the trash and backed out of the garage. With shaking fingers, he dialed Mac from his cell to let him know he’d be late.

~0~

“Clem, ya gonna eat that?”

“I’m counting points now. Again,” she snorted, waving for him to take the rest of her hamburger from her plate. Logan slid her dish over to himself and plucked the other half of her sandwich up, shaking off the lettuce, tomato and bread clinging to the patty. “I don’t know how you do it, Logan. Eating anything and never gaining a pound. You look good,” she beamed. “Healthy and rested. Robust, even.”

“Yer makin’ me blush, kiddo,” he winked, but Mac interrupted him before he could tear into the beef.

“I wanted to show this to you before we leave today, bub. Might be easier to digest on a full stomach. Here.” Mac slid Logan a slim accordion folio as Logan wiped his fingers on his crumpled napkin.

“Ya said it was important,” he replied, unlooping the string fastening the tab shut and peering inside.

“There’s a sheet from the workbook from last quarter’s activities.”

“Ya shouldn’t be showin’ me this, Mac,” Logan reminded him soberly. “Ya could get the sack like me.”

“You shouldn’t have been sacked, man,” Mac sighed. His eyes searched Logan’s face. “Clementine stepped up to the plate to tie up loose ends after you left, so the new director’s admin wouldn’t be left with too much on her plate.”

“New guy?” Logan’s heavy brows beetled together, giving him the fierce look that spawned several office nicknames that didn’t really bother him. “Thought they just dissolved my position ta cut back.”

“That’s what we were told when it came down from the CEO’s desk,” Mac shrugged. “We never got a memo about who was moving into your old office until his admin was unpacking his stuff and setting out his nameplate.”

“Did he come in from the outside?” Logan inquired as his eyes scanned the sheets of paper.

“No. He came in and moved up from another branch.”

“Did he have any seniority?”

“Some. Not enough to take over a department, though.” Logan sighed.

“Then whose ass did he kiss?” Logan laid the papers down and leaned back in his chair, frustrated. “I don’t know where yer goin’ with this, Mac.”

“Then keep reading.” Logan went back to the file, continuing to scan the dates and activities.

Meetings. More meetings. Receipts. “Yer gonna catch hell fer takin’ this outta the office, Ma-“ His voice deserted him as he read a short stack of emails spanning over three months. “Shit.”

“You were the one who brought in the Dane account.”

“No shit. Took me and Clem weeks to put together the package they wanted and ta get approval from the state fer the benefits they bought.”

“Logan, that account was the deciding factor in whether to keep you.” Mac’s words wrapped around his neck and weighed against him like a lodestone. “You weren’t given credit for closing it, or for working the Summers Brothers account.” Logan’s eyes perused the dates sent and the subject lines of messages that never went through his inbox. All of them were related to those two accounts. They’d bypassed him.

“Look at the invoices. We got these back from cash posting,” Clementine offered, handing him a separate folio. “That’s not your signature signing for the receipt of those premiums and deposits.”

“Sure as hell ain’t,” Logan muttered, feeling anger tighten his scalp and thin his lips. The John Hancock on each record of receipt from the ledgers was illegible except for the large, stylized “P” and “M” resting on the line.

“Nothing matches,” Mac mused, toying idly with his iced water and straw. “And it knocked us over with a feather when they filled a position that they said was gonna be dissolved.”

“So they wanted me out.”

“No. They just wanted this other guy in. We just don’t know why,” Mac countered.

“He’s under yer umbrella now, ain’t he, Mac?”

“Uh-uh. Different cost center, different lead.”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“At least Mac and I know we aren’t crazy, then,” Clementine muttered. “We were thinking the same thing.”

“How ya holdin’ up, darlin’?” Logan inquired, letting his face ease into softer lines.

“I’d be better if not for the new admin Maximoff brought with him. She’s a piece of work,” she snorted.

“More like a piece of shit,” Mac chimed in, making a face around the French fry he was tucking into his mouth. “Thinks she’s too good to take minutes or to hand in the expense reports on time.”

“Accused me of taking her flavored creamer out of the fridge,” Clementine sneered.

“Didja?” Logan’s lips twisted.

“Didn’t have her name on it,” Clem shrugged. Mac sighed.

“So. That leaves us here. What do you want to do about this, Logan?”

“Dunno. I really don’t, Mac.” Different scenarios played themselves out in his head. “I’m just lettin’ it all sink in. I’m kinda floored. And pissed.” That was the cue for more unpleasant tingles to creep over his flesh, making his nape throb.

“Well, no shit!”

“A whole friggin’ month, tryin’ ta rearrange my life because someone diddled a few receipts and kept me outta the loop.”

“In a nutshell.” Mac dragged his last fry through the ketchup on his plate.

“I gotta think about it. Sleep on it.”

“That’s another thing, Logan,” Clementine cut in before he could dig back into the burger patty. “The LAN desk hasn’t cleaned off your laptop yet. Or your desktop. I just got the requisition slips to have it sent back to them yesterday.”

“So my old inbox hasn’t been deleted yet.”

“Sure hasn’t.”

“Hope they don’t find the porn you were peeking at on your lunch break,” Mac jabbed. 

“Hold on, got somethin’ in my eye…” Logan flipped him the bird in the guise of rubbing it. Mac chuckled.

“They already disabled the passwords,” Clementine offered apologetically.

“Not the ones on my machine at home. Even when I ain’t at work, I’m workin’. Last time I sent in my expenses, Clem, I did it from home.” Her eyes widened and she slapped the table.

“Sure. You sure as hell did! Shit,” she marveled with a shake of her head. “Bless your little heart.”

“Thank God for telecommuting,” Mac agreed. Logan handed Clem back the files before he folded the patty and crammed it into his mouth.

 

~0~

Three days of sleepless nights found Ororo cranky and impatient when Ali called her that morning, sounding too chipper for it to be random.

“H’lo?” she rasped as she turned down the volume on her set. Giblet meowed in complaint as she sat up from her reclining position on the couch. She scratched her ears as she nudged the kitty from her chest, letting her resume her own nap on her lap. The warm, fuzzy haze from her too-short nap was dissipating the more Ali spoke.

“Go to your closet and get out your dancing shoes.”

“Let me wake up first. And for the record, Al, why?”

“Why ask why?” she grinned into the phone.

“Al…”

“Okay, Miss Killjoy. You and I are going to the publisher’s ball next week.”

“Eerrrrgh,” Ororo groaned, stretching and popping the joints in her neck. “Why?” she repeated. 

“Because it’s good publicity. And we’re doing the Christmas launch. Might be good to have your picture taken with the beautiful people.”

“Thanks,” she yawned. “Glad you’re thinking of me.”

“Someone’s gotta. You’re such a hermit, babe.”

“I’ve got gas,” Ororo offered. “Leave me alone.”

“Gads…no excuse.”

“Then stay upwind.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“Gas?”

“Excuses. If you don’t show, everyone will be breathing down my neck wondering where you are.”

“Then let ‘em wonder.”

“No. I’m got going to be the middle man. You’re going. I’ll be lonely without you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Then I need my partner in crime to make sure I don’t tuck my dress into my pantyhose coming from the ladies’ room all night.”

“Wear pants,” Ororo suggested dryly.

“No way. I’m not showing up looking like a complete dowd. This is the velvet and sequins crowd. The more glitz, the better. Speaking of which, we’re hitting the mall. Get up and do your hair.”

“Al…”

“Up and at ‘em. Run a brush through that mop or I’ll come over and do it for you.”

“You’re not gonna let me get away with crawling back in bed and blowing the whole thing off, are you?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

~0~

They were dodging the flow of people crowding the mall corridor as they clutched vanilla lattes and cinnamon soft pretzels.

“We should’ve headed down the freeway. Every place in town’s gonna have the same stuff. We’ll see ourselves coming and going at the party if we get something here.” Three boutiques and the top floor of one department store yielded the same result. They’d thumbed through countless racks of dresses that started to look identical after two hours.

“I might just wear that pants outfit I have.”

“No,” Ali snapped.

“Ooookayyy…”

“No, Ororo! You always do that! You’ve gotta get yourself back out there. I worry about you. You don’t have the spunk and spice you used to have before Jonathan.”

“Forge?” Ororo scowled. “What’s he gotta do with anything?”

“You’ve taken yourself off the menu since you guys stopped seeing each other.”

“Maybe no one’s hungry,” Ororo replied sullenly as they made a left turn into a country boutique to look at a rack of overpriced jewelry. She held up a pair of beaded gold earrings, tossing her hair back to see how they’d hang.

“Maybe you’ve just got your blinders on.” Ali sighed as random passerby gave Ororo the eye while her back was turned. Despite her protests, Ororo had gotten dressed for their outing in boot-cut black jeans and a snug white sweater and left her hair down, falling in loose curls down her back. She’d even put her dark raisin lipstick on, creating a tempting, kissable pout that competed for attention with her azure eyes. “There’s still some great men out there, kiddo.”

“Like Pietro?” she scoffed.

“Exactly like Pietro. He’s really impressed with you. Not like you could tell with the drool and how he mentions you every time I run into him.”

“How did you even meet him?”

“This and that. We just know a lot of the same people. But he’s nice.”

“Then you date him.”

“I’m not the one who needs fixing up.”

“Tell me another one! You’re single and looking. Go for him.” She didn’t add _And quit picking on me._

“He’s a flirt, but he doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Never know til you ask,” Ororo reasoned.

“He doesn’t look at me like he did you.” Ali’s tone was wistful and sad, reflecting her eyes when Ororo faced her. “And it’s been a while since anyone did.”

“Giblet and I love you.”

“Thanks a lot. I’m touched.”

“You’re a kick in the pants. Quit worrying about making me presentable to the public and put your shingle up in your own window.”

“It’s more fun when we’re trying to fix you up,” Ali pointed out. “It’s like having a Barbie doll to play with!”

“Brat!”

They headed down the freeway to the two-story galleria and parked out in “B.F.E.,” as Ali quaintly put it before nagging Ororo to remember where which row they put the car.

Ali detoured from her usual dark blue. She bit the bullet and bought a costly mauve silk, iridescent and that shifted with changes in the light.

“That’s different,” Ororo mused, smiling in approval when she tried it on. “You’ll need shoes to match that. I saw some nice stockings at the back of the store, the ones with the gold dust.”

“Pantyhose. They’re called pantyhose, silly!”

“Same diff. Women in my family call ‘em stockings,” Ororo huffed as she fingered a black velvet jacket.

“Put that back. You’re not wearing that boring old thing. And for the record, Petunia, if it has a crotch or a ‘middle ground,’ then it's a pair of pantyhose. If there’s no crotch to be found, then they’re stockings.” Ali’s smile was wicked when she added “If they’re the old school socks old men wear with suspenders, those are also stockings.”

“So you’re comparing me with old men who wear suspendered socks?”

“Not in so many words…”

“Meanie. And I like black velvet.”

“Get ready to look like half the women over fifty in the room. Get something red. Like that dress you wore to the signing.”

“I could just wear that, then.”

“No! Something that’ll knock everyone’s eyes out.” Ali scanned the store and suddenly said “Hello, mama! Here we go! C’mere!”

“What?”

“Look. This is your outfit. It’s screaming for you to take it home.” She dragged her over by the elbow to the display mannequin that they hadn’t noticed on the way in. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s…wow.” She lifted the price tag and nearly dropped it in shock. “No. No, no, no. Too much. I’ve gotta eat this month, Al.”

“Skip it. Might help to fit into this little beauty.” She lifted it off the rack. “Try it on. I’ve gotta see this.”

“I’m not depressing myself trying on something I can’t afford.”

“Then we haul out the big guns.”

“Ali. No.” Ali gave her that wicked, knowing look.

“Yes.”

“NO!”

“Heck, yeah!” She shoved the dress at Ororo and dragged her by the elbow to the dressing room. “In. Now.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I’ll tell ‘Tro you’re hot for his bod.”

“Blackmail won’t work.” Her cheeks betrayed her, flushing darkly.

“Imagine the look on his face when you walk into a room in this. Buy me, Ororo, buyyyy meeeee…” she chanted in a disembodied voice, waving the dress through the air on its hanger.

“You’re not gonna quit.”

“Nope.” She patted her purse. “Me or my Amex Platinum card.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Can too. It’s called a Christmas gift.” She gave her marching orders crisply, pointing her finger toward the dressing rooms. “Go.”

“Ack.” But she went. Twenty minutes of bickering, fawning and grumbling banter later, Ororo walked out of the store one dress richer, avoiding Ali’s smug look.

 

~0~

_She’s been so quiet lately. She looks sad. I hate it when she’s sad._

_She needs a present. I know what will make her smile._

_I can make her smile the best._

_Every time I see her in on the couch like that, all snuggled up in the blankets, it’s like I can feel how soft her hair is. What it feels like for her to lay her head in my lap. Hear her make those tiny sounds in her sleep._

_She’s so much like Zoe. And I want to be her Mick._

 

~0~

Logan was too distracted to watch TV when he got home. He settled back in his favorite recliner with a beer and “The Book.” He was almost finished with it, but it barely whetted his appetite.

_”I almost lost you!” She felt limp as she shivered in Mick’s arms against the cold._

_“Knew you’d find me,” she sobbed into his dripping coat. Her attacker lay lifelessly mere yards from them on the deserted pier, his blood mingling with the rain and salty mist._

_“You’re safe.”_

_“Mick? I didn’t mean it,” she pleaded, clutching at him and inhaling his scent to reassure herself that he was real._

_“The part where you said that I was a hardheaded sonofabitch?”_

_“No. The part where I said I didn’t love you.”_

_“It’s all right, baby.”_

_“No it’s not. I love you, Mick! Damn it, it’s always been you!”_

_“Your car. It’s wrecked. There was…no body,” he choked, still feeling the cold weight that settled in his chest at the sight of twisted metal. “You don’t know what that did to me.”_

_“No. I know,” she murmured, still trembling against him as he stroked her hair. “Because I know what it did to me.”_

Slightly mushy, he admitted, but in a good way. And she wrote a damned decent kidnapping.

“Fuck.” It was nagging at him. Her phone number was still burning a hole in his pocket.

Why the heck not?

He reached for the handset of his cordless and dialed it, tracing the loops of her signature inside the book jacket with this fingertip.

One ring. His pulse stuttered. Two rings. His skin felt uncomfortably warm, and he fidgeted with the possibility she’d answer “Logan who?” Three rings. He was getting antsy.

Four – CLICK. “Hello?” a breathless voice greeted him. He smiled. She sounded even better on the phone.

“Hey. Uh, it’s Logan. Ya gave me yer number a little while back.” Her silence on the other end was charged, and he bit his tongue.

“I did,” she agreed, and he imagined her lips curling in a grin. “Hello there, Logan.” He heard the rustling of something that sounded like plastic in the background. “It’s good to hear from you. And it was good to see you without being laid out on the asphalt.”

“Damn. Don’t remind me about that, darlin’. That was one of the worst nights of my life when I saw what the asshole did to ya.”

“Wasn’t one of my best either, buddy. It could have been worse.” He heard her clear her throat. “A lot worse. Thank you. I can’t say it enough.”

“Ya don’t hafta keep it up. I believe ya, darlin’.” He turned the book over in his hands. “Read yer book. Haven’t been able ta put it down.”

“Thank you.” She took the compliment easily without gushing or protesting.

“Ya take a nice picture.”

This time she argued. “Goodness, no, I don’t! I hate posing for photos. I’m squinty.”

“Like hell!” Even in black and white film, she was striking. “I like yer picture. That’s the kinda smile where ya can see the wheels turnin’ a mile a minute.”

“What does it look like I had on my mind?”

“Somethin’ deep.” He warmed to the subject, and his voice grew slightly husky. “Maybe somethin’ naughty.”

“Might have been dancing elephants,” she pointed out, but her tone was soft. A funny little thrill ran through her stomach. “Or the national debt. The price of pork bellies.”

“Somethin’ a little more profound than that,” he nagged. But he snickered.

“Not much.” He heard the sliding of fabric from her end and wondered what she was doing. “It’s the weekend already. I don’t know where the days between went, I’ve been so busy.”

“Wore yer hand out signin’ books?”

“It’s not any worse than the carpal tunnel I give myself from being in front of my PC all day.” He bit back that _there’s worse ways to wear out your hand. And better ones._ She tempted him.

“Haven’t touched a keyboard in a while,” he admitted. “I’m in transition now and lookin’ fer somethin’ else.”

“Job change?”

“I just retired.” Forcibly.

“I envy you. ‘Retiring’ for me means I’ll fade into obscurity when my next book bombs.”

“Shit. Ya don’t hafta worry about that, kiddo.”

“They can’t all be gems.”

“They don’t all hafta be. Sometimes ya can say somethin’ that moves someone and that stays with ‘em, no matter what happens after that. That’s a real talent. Takes someone who’s got a good grip on people’s emotions and how they think t’do that. Ya’ve got a gift.” Pleasure curled in her stomach and gave her a faint buzz. “And a lot of insight.”

“You’ve got a lot of courage,” Ororo murmured thoughtfully. “No one’s done anything like that for me before.”

“I couldn’t not do it, darlin’. When I saw him hit ya like that…I was scared. Scared I wouldn’t get to ya on time.” The silence between them was charged; they sat listening to each other’s breathing.

“I just want to say, Logan, that I’m happy I ran into you again.”

“Likewise.” He heard more rustling in the background. He couldn’t see that she was holding her new purchase against herself in the mirror as they chatted. “Worried about ya when they took ya away.” It was an understatement. Her eyes had haunted him ever since, as well as the way her hair felt when he stroked it.

“What were you doing when you saw me?”

“I was in my car across the street. Celebratin’ my retirement, I guess.” He hated the lie. “Wasn’t doin’ a good job of it.” That was enough honesty.

“What kind of job did you have before?”

“Investments and securities. Twenty years.”

“Wow.” She sounded impressed and awed. “I haven’t even been getting my work published half that long, even though I’ve been writing for that many years.”

“What else did ya write?” She chuckled softly. She had a nice laugh.

“I wrote my own little short stories starting when I was still in braces. Nothing that great, but I had little hearts doodled in the margins.” Laughter shook him and he shook his head.

“I’ll stick with what ya signed for me, darlin’.”

“Good call. If you don’t mind me asking, what kinds of books do you like to read? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Stuff with substance. Somethin’ with a real plot and characters that feel like real people. Nothin’ that just feels like something Hollywood would make into a movie.”

“Man, I hate that,” she snorted. “No kidding. Only exception to that rule is Gone with the Wind.”

“Never read it.”

“Twelve hundred pages, but it’s worth every second. I don’t watch that many movies these days. Nothing good in the theater.”

“It’s all been done before.”

“Exactly. Doesn’t leave a girl much to do on a Friday night.”

“Well…if ya don’t mind me askin’ this time, what DO ya usually do on a Friday night?”

“Write. Go out with my best friend, who’s also my agent. Watch _SVU_ reruns. Or walk on the beach, depending on how cold it is.” An uneasy feeling swept over him.

The beach.

She rambled when he didn’t seem to have anything else to say. “Can’t beat the view. I’ve got a huge picture window. I still haven’t gotten sick of the Vineyard.” 

He couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. “Didja happen ta see the full moon a few nights ago?”

Her legs seemed to give way, and she quickly sank down onto the corner of her bed. “Yes,” she rasped. “Yes, I did. There’s just something about a full moon. It’s…eerie. But listen to me,” she dismissed. “I sound like a big scaredy cat.” All the more ironic as she remembered clutching Giblet while she hunkered down behind her winter coats. But the memory still made her shiver and her stomach twist.

“It makes folks act different than they normally would. And yer not a scaredy cat,” he corrected her, no longer sounding cryptic. “There’s nothin’ wrong with tryin’ ta protect yerself, darlin’.”

“That means a lot coming from you.” She cradled the phone against her cheek and toyed with a lock of her hair. “Logan?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“You have nice eyes. It’s like they could swallow you up.”

“Ain’t like I hear that every day,” he huffed, but he sounded pleased.

“It’s like you can see the wheels turning a mile a minute,” she said, stealing his phrase. Suddenly, the call waiting beeped on her phone.

“Sounds like someone’s beggin’ fer yer attention, Ororo.” She sighed. She actually was expecting a call from Ali.

“I’m glad you called.”

“So’m I, darlin’.”

“Any chance you’d call again?” There it was. That little husky sound that hid nothing.

“You can bet on it.”

“All right. Good night, Logan.”

“G’night, Ororo.” She hung up reluctantly; he stared at the phone in his hand for several seconds after he rang off. He set it down and leaned back into his chair with a sigh.

“This is Ororo?” she answered breathlessly.

Silence.

“Hello?”

Nothing. Not so much as a whisper or discernible breath. For just a moment, her hair stood on end.

“Goodbye,” she tsked flippantly, powering off the handset and cradling it on the charger. Wrong number. Punk…

The phone rang again a few minutes later. This time she waited for the machine to pick up.

_I know you’re home, you nerd! It’s Al. You or the cat pick this up if you’re there…_ She dove for it this time after putting her dress away.

“Hey. I thought it was the same idiot dialing a wrong number?”

“How do you know it was a wrong number?”

“They hung up,” she shrugged. Ali didn’t seem convinced.

“No one’s annoyed enough with you to make a crank call?”

“Please…maybe this one girl who hated me during home room in ninth grade. Who I haven’t seen in, what, fifteen years?”

“Eh. Did you try it on again?”

“Yup.”

“Good idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yup.”

“You sound…perky.”

“Hm.”

“You do! What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Well,” she amended, “I just got off another call.”

“Dish, then. Was it ‘Tro?” Ororo made a face.

“No. Not ‘Tro. Logan.”

“Who?”

“The guy in the parking lot that showed up before I got really hurt that night.” 

“Wait…he’s calling you? What the hell is he doing with your phone number? It’s a violation of patient confidentiality for a hospital to give our your num-“

“Take it easy. I gave him my number. He showed up at my signing.”

“Then he’s a fan. You never give fans your number, Ororo. You know that.”

“He didn’t know who I was that night,” she reminded her, but she was put off by Ali’s disbelieving tone and seeming irritation with her. 

“He could have read about your signing in the newspaper.”

“I don’t think it was like that.”

“You don’t know him,” Ali chastised. Ororo sighed, then conceded.

“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right,” she admitted, copping a line from _When Harry Met Sally._ “But he was worried. Last time he saw me, the men in white suits were taking me away on a stretcher.”

“Blue suits,” Ali retorted. “White suits mean they’re taking you to the farm.”

“You’d know,” Ororo shot back, giggling.

“Bitch,” Ali smirked. 

“All we did was talk.”

“How was he that night?”

“Strong. Amazing,” she gushed, and her voice and eyes grew dreamy. “He took good care of me, Al.”

“Don’t let that dazzle you too much, ‘Ro. He saved you, but at the end of the day, he’s just some guy you met.”

“I won’t.” She sounded curt.

“Just thought I’d let you know, too. I gave Pietro a ticket to the ball.”

“You WHAT?”

“A little louder, Ororo. Don’t think that was strong enough to blow out my ear drum. Shit! And you heard me. I had an extra one that they comped me, so I gave it to him.”

“Enjoy dancing with him, then.” It didn’t matter to her that he looked like someone who danced pretty well, or who would be a good match on the floor, with them being of a height.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. You’re gonna look fantastic. So will he. You saw him. Picture him in a tux or a formal suit. Yum!”

“Gads…evil, evil woman. That’s why you got up in my grill about the dress.”

“I did no such thing,” she said innocently.

“Ohhhhh, I beg to differ. So evil,” she sighed.

“I’ve booked us for a mani-pedi that morning. And go to that lady who did such a nice job braiding your hair that one time.”

“That’s four hours in the chair for someone who I might not even call the next day.”

“Ro, he’ll be the one calling _you_.” After more jabs and a grudging confession from Ororo that yes, the ball might just be what she needed, going out dressed to the nines, they hung up.


	8. Ice Cream in Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One good date leads to a better one.

Insensible shoes just made a tense night out even longer.

Ororo’s face ached from smiling and brushing air kisses on random cheeks since she walked in through the entry way of the Sea Crest. She tried in vain to wiggle her toes inside the silver lame pumps as she sipped the glass of wine that Pietro dutifully fetched for her.

“I can’t get over how great you look tonight,” he marveled, eying her appreciatively. “You stand out in the crowd.”

“Like a sore thumb?” she kidded, peering at him over the rim of her drink. To his own credit, the man was born to wear a tux. To anyone passing by, they were compatible and equally stunning.

“No. You must make everyone else disappear.”

“That’s sweet of you; thank you.” She wasn’t in the mood to preen or fish for more compliments. “You clean up nicely yourself.” He grinned at her choice of words. She mentally inserted _What? This old thing?_ as he smoothed back his hair. Several women gave him lingering glances as they swarmed toward the appetizers.

He was attentive enough. Ororo devoted her time to him, chatting pleasantly and asking him questions that seemed to strike the right chord. He played racquetball; she would have bet on it, anyway, even if he hadn’t mentioned it. He graduated from Brandeis, attending college on a track scholarship. He was single and didn’t have an ex-wife, babies, or a baby’s momma giving him drama, which was a plus. Once Ororo crossed the threshold of her mid-thirties, she’d become jaded. First dates no longer consisted of “I’m just looking for the right girl, when I’m ready to settle down.” More typical was “I wish she hadn’t taken the truck.” Fair enough, she figured. Except for a few gifts that they exchanged while they were together, Forge pretty much left with nothing else than he came with when they broke up.

He was an excellent dancer; before her feet could throb from standing in one place too long, he’d pull her out onto the floor. She was still fantasizing about kicking off her shoes when she got home and burying them in her house slippers.

The best thing about the ball was the chance to people watch. Ororo took mental snapshots of several guests who caught her eye. Gestures, facial expressions, walks, postures, hairstyles and other more minute details spoke to her. She was a born people watcher. A short scene wrote itself in her head as she watched two women across the room going through the motions of a drive-by wave, two minutes of polite chatter, and the inevitable excuses of “I have to get back to my table, they’re seating everybody. It was nice to see you!” before they rushed off. Noncommittal. No promises to call each other or to catch up on the dance floor, just shallow, perfunctory goodness.

Parties like these were meant for just that sort of thing, really.

“I asked if you were all right,” Pietro repeated. 

“Oh! Sorry.”

“You were a million miles away. Wanna take me with you next time?”

“Only if you bring a map. And some crossword books and gum.”

“Would you kill me if we talked shop?”

“That depends.” She watched him warily.

“Are you working on any new books?” It was safe enough.

“One in progress right now. Ali already pitched it, but it needs to go through the gauntlet of edits, revisions, and all-around bullshit. That part doesn’t really end til its got a glossy cover slapped on the front of it and it shows up in Borders.”

“Get a lot of fan mail?”

“On the Web site. I keep myself unlisted.”

“Smart choice.” Then “Where do you live?”

“Vineyard. I like the privacy.”

“On the beach?”

“Only way to go. Just me and my cat.” She watched for his reaction. Yup. His eyes glazed over. Not a cat person, she thought, mentally scratching a point in the “cons” column for Pietro. The overall package, otherwise, wasn’t too bad. He recovered quickly.

“I like Atlantic beaches. The Pacific is too cold. Ever been to the Florida Keys?”

“No,” she admitted, curious.

“You’d love it. I’m due to meet with a client this spring. I usually make side trips to play tourist.” 

“Must be nice.”

“It’s better when you have someone to share it with.” He took her empty glass from her and set it on a nearby table. “I can’t keep you off the floor. You look fantastic, and I feel like showing you off.” She felt that funny little tickle of excitement in her stomach as he swept them back out into the maze of couples, planting them dead center. Whether it was to show off or to hinder an easy escape, she couldn’t distinguish.

He smelled good, felt firm and fluid as he pressed her against his body, and had devil-may-care eyes, but she still felt a million miles away.

~0~

Ororo left the Sea Crest tired, foot sore, and starved. The chicken entrée was unremarkable and too small, obviously geared toward getting people to get up from their tables to mingle. Ororo was all mingled out.

She hummed to her Vivian Green disc as she navigated the surprisingly busy street. Lots of people were going out for Christmas drinks and to see the lighting displays downtown. She seldom decorated the outside of her house, but she could see other people’s efforts from the shore. She didn’t envy them their electric bill.

At the next intersection, she plugged in her Bluetooth and checked her voice mail messages on her home machine, keying in her passcode.

“Ororo, Pietro’s meeting you in the main lobby. Get there early enough so you don’t have to park in BFE.” That was Ali, calling ten minutes after she’d left. She wasn’t too pleased when she left early, but it couldn’t be helped. She was running out of small talk and even “safe talk” and was tired of flash bulbs. She knew she’d end up in someone’s entertainment pages, photo snapped of her mouth open, blinking, or with her stomach sticking out. She hated candid shots.

There was a call from another bookstore in Hyannis, confirming her next signing date.

There was a hangup. When she tried to see who it was from, it said “blocked call.” That was the third one this week. “It’s called a wrong number, genius; get a clue,” she carped under her breath as she deleted it and turned right when the light turned green.

One call left…from Logan. She turned down the volume on her stereo and hit “get message”.

_Hey, Ororo. It’s Logan. Felt like talkin’ with ya again. Bet yer busy. Finished yer book, and I ain’t disappointed._

_I’ve been in and out tonight, and I’m still up. Call me if ya want, when ya get back in._

_‘Bye, darlin’._ Her phone chirped as she hit ‘save’ and added his number to her contacts menu. Then she autodialed it and waited patiently, sparing a glance at a gaudy Santa snow globe on someone’s lawn and candy canes laddering up the front walk. They hadn’t missed an inch of the house or the shrubs with miniature lights; all they needed was a casino sign and an Elvis impersonator on the porch.

She checked the timestamp on his call. Ten minutes ago.

“Then maybe you’re still awake,” she concluded out loud. She felt herself grinning as his phone finally picked up.

“H’lo?” He sounded relaxed, with a hint of sleep in his voice.

“Shoot. I didn’t wake you, did I? It’s me, ‘Ro. Ororo,” she corrected, trying to jog his memory.”

“Just restin’ my eyes,” he chuckled. It was a yummy chuckle, the kind that lets you in on the joke, and it didn’t hurt that he had a rich, deep voice that seemed to stroke you.

“That’s what my mom always said when she’d fall asleep on the couch in front of the TV.”

“Sometimes I end up watchin’ my own eyeballs and wake up ta infomercials, but I still stay up late.”

“I just wanted to return your call.”

“What’re ya doin’ tonight? I hear music. Are ya home?”

“No. I just got back from a party. I’m thinking about picking up some food.”

“Ya didn’t eat?”

“They didn’t serve enough to fill a hollow tooth.”

“I hate that. Sounds like any convention I’ve ever gone to or some of the go-sees I’ve had where they order in.”

“The ones where they throw sandwiches and cookies at you and call it real food.”

“And the rest of the office spends the rest of the day swarmin’ over the leftovers like locusts.”

“Bingo. So I’m off to forage.”

“Fer what?”

“Crazy as it sounds, ice cream.”

“Yer kiddin’!” She heard him stifle a yawn, and again, it was a sexy sound, coming from him. “It’s ten degrees outside.”

“I like ice cream in the winter. And right now I’d knock down anyone who got between me and some hot fudgey goodness.”

“Where ya gonna get ice cream at this hour?”

“Denny’s. It’ll have to be good enough. They stay open almost all night.”

“Damn. Ice cream.”

“Yup,” she grinned.

“Which one?”

“The one downtown.” She peered around the neighborhood. “Three blocks down and one street over from the brown two-level house that’s trying to be Caesar’s Palace.”

“The one with the snow globe?”

“Right again.”

“Still can’t sell me on ice cream when it’s like this out, but I have a hankerin’ for chicken strips.” She waited expectantly before biting the bullet.

“After you eat those salty things, you might think my sweet stuff is a good idea. It’s fun to have one and then the other.” She turned into the driveway of the restaurant. “Are you headed to bed?”

“I’m not as tired now.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. “And I’ll get my coat.”

“I’ll get us a booth.”

On the one hand, it was late. She’d woke him. She probably thought she was nuts.

On the other hand, she was already dressed to kill. His voice brought to mind crumpled blankets. And suddenly she wasn’t quite as ready to go home.

She left behind a trail of round eyes and gaping mouths when she entered the lobby and asked for a booth. The restaurant was about half-full, and she was one of the only people not digging into an appetizer plate to stave off a hangover the next day.

Logan parked close to the front of the lot and still wondered why she picked this place at this time of night.

He decided not to argue with good fortune.

“I’m meeting someone,” he explained to the hostess. “Her,” he nodded toward the back of a woman with white hair struggling out of a heavy wool coat. The restaurant was almost overheated to combat the weather, combined with the heat coming from the kitchen.

She turned around just as he approached, and his pulse beat in double time. The first thing that caught his attention was her scent. Her heartbeat picked up as they met eyes.

“Ya can’t be warm in that get-up,” he chided her, but he looked his fill. Her hair was cornrowed and pulled back from her face into an elegant upsweep that revealed high cheekbones and the line of her slender neck. He knew why the other patrons were staring at her as his eyes roamed over the red satin crepe dress, a slim sheath that flared at the hem, swishing when she walked. The neckline bared her shoulders and showcased perfect cleavage. It draped her body lovingly. His fingers itched to feel her skin through the slick texture of the fabric. 

“I’ll manage for the moment.”

“And yer gonna eat ice cream. Glutton for punishment.” He shucked his coat and laid it on the seat beside him. He watched her staring at him. “What?”

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not.” The waitress came back to offer them the menus.

“I already know what I want,” Ororo announced. “The small hot fudge sundae. And a cup of cocoa to start.”

“I’ll just have the chicken strips, since she’s already orderin’,” he decided easily. “And a cocoa, too.” Ororo gave him a slow smile.

“Makes my job easy,” the waitress agreed before she dashed off.

“So what kinda party was it that ya got all dolled up for?”

“A ball. Publishers’ shindig at the Sea Crest.” He whistled.

“That wasn’t cheap.”

“They spent the money on the ambience and the view, not on the food. I wasn’t even sure I was going.”

“Why not?”

“I always feel like I’m playing dress-up and dipping into my mother’s makeup for stuff like this. And people never come up with anything new to say.”

“Ya think ya’ve heard it all. Who knows, ya probably have. Guess ya’ve probably answered this question enough times ta wanna smack somebody, but when did ya know ya first wanted ta write?”

“It just jumped up and bit me. My brother’s comics were a big culprit. My C.S. Lewis books. Some of the book report projects I had in junior high. I went through the whole routine of listening to depressing music and writing depressing poetry for while, and I always had a journal to doodle in during study hall. My brothers used to have me tell the scary stories when we went camping. My mom said I had a twisted mind.”

“I never had much of a knack for words.”

“You don’t have to. You just have to have a vision of something in your head and put it on paper.” She toyed with the sugar packets. “I’m no good with numbers.”

“Numbers are just ideas. Easy ta work with ‘em and understand ‘em if ya remember that.”

“That’s how I feel about words. I just hate it when people say they’re _afraid_ to write. That’s like being good at something like art and having people tell you all day “I can’t even draw stick figures.”

“Shit. Sounds like me,” he admitted guiltily, shooting her a mischievous look. “Don’t hate me for this, but ‘I can’t even draw stick figures.’” He imitated her inflections. She twisted her lips and made a face.

“Balance my checkbook, and all might be forgiven. Better yet, keep me company and have some ice cream.” Their server arrived with their cocoa first. Logan burned his mouth when he took too quick a sip before scooping off the whipped cream.

“The cream insulates it. You should eat that first,” she explained patiently.

“Might help if they weren’t servin’ hot lava underneath.” He reached for the spoon and dug into the cream. Cheap restaurant, he realized. Stainless steel utensils. Lucky break.

“Poor baby.”

“Yer merciless.” She demurely sipped her cocoa, blowing it liberally to show him how it was done.

He liked watching her do that with her mouth, which was painted a luscious crimson. He wanted to taste the chocolate from her lips.

He focused on her scent and noticed that something was…different. Something was interfering with it.

Someone else’s. His nostrils flared as he drank it in.

_Male._ She’d made contact with someone male. Close contact. He felt his hackles go up, and a strange, overwhelming sense of envy burned in his gut. His skin felt itchy and too tight.

“What’s the matter? Burnt yourself that bad, huh? You were scowling for a second.”

“Oh. No. Nothin’.” Her smile returned and she continued to stare at him.

“You have neat eyes,” she said out of the blue. He felt himself flush slightly. Her pronouncement tickled him. And he couldn’t stop staring at hers. A blue you could drown in, and sultry.

“Don’t hear that every day.”

“Then you should. I like them.”

“Likewise, darlin’.” Their food came, and just as she promised, her sundae tempted him more than his own order. A glob of the thick fudge oozed down the side of the glass.

“Second thoughts?” she offered as she gleaned the excess sauce from the side and lapped it up, sucking on her finger to get the last bit. 

He grew hard. The change rippled over his features; she paused in spooning up the ice cream and reacted just as strongly. Her nipples suddenly tingled, hardening into stiff buds beneath the shining scarlet crepe. She hoped he didn’t see the goosebumps that erupted over her bare arms.

For a few seconds, the noisy clamor of the diner went away. Logan heard his own heartbeat, and hers, surrounding him. Eating him up.

“Um, Logan?” He shook himself back to reality at the sound of her voice, sounding just as dazed as he felt.

“Yeah?” She pointed at one of his chicken fingers.

“Are you gonna eat that?”


	9. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ororo receives a threat. Logan runs to her side.

_Here she comes._

Ororo’s coat flapped behind her as she climbed out from her car and crossed the street. Her steps were swift as she clopped along the pavement toward a coffee cart. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold.

_Two creams. And a Splenda._

“Tall. Double. You’ve got Splenda, right?” She stood stomping booted feet and rubbing her hands before the clerk tucked her change and two tiny tubs of creamer into her palm.

_Today’s the third. Magazine time._

Ororo barely paused at the intersection before the light changed; she tripped over the crosswalk toward her favorite newsstand and scanned the rack. She selected an issue of _W_ and fished in her purse for her wallet.

_Watch that puddle._

Ororo nimbly, barely dodged immersing her boot in a deep puddle of slush. Her expression was grateful, even comical.

_See you at lunch time, princess._

 

~0~

Feathers.

Bits of them were sprinkled around his porch. They littered his laundry alcove when he woke up to put a white load on to wash.

“What the flamin’?” He plucked one sparse, snowy plume between finger and thumb and thumb, feeling its airy, grainy texture. His nose scrunched up as he inhaled the loose particles, and his sneeze was blustery and wet. Logan swiped his fingers against his pants leg to rid them of the offending fluff.

Where the heck had he picked up feathers?

Logan lumbered into his kitchen and searched for coffee. He was alert, but he had that off-kilter feeling left from a restless night’s sleep the night before. He knew he dreamed, but he couldn’t capture the hazy, sometimes elusive recollection of what it was about. What it possibly meant. As Logan listened to his coffee pot hiss and bubble, he stretched, lolling his head from one side to the other. Damn, that felt good.

All the aches and pains he thought were a precursor to arthritis disappeared. The bags that had hooded his eyes had receded, lightening the shadows underneath. Even his spine seemed straighter. He filled out blazers and dress shirts with confidence. On one of his random trips to his local gym, he earned several appreciative looks from women using the elliptical machines and bikes. He returned glances that were friendly, if sheepish. A hot flush of pride swept over him as he did several sets of free weights, enjoying the burn in his muscles. It felt good to put himself to the test.

He felt strong. Alive.

Logan ran through his to-do list as he dug in an almost empty bread bag for any slice except the crumbling heels. Wash the salty grit from the car. Drop off some of Carol’s shit. Clean out the garage. Head to the bookstore…

He’d devoured the rest of the novel and craved more. Ororo’s voice filled her prose and beckoned to him like a siren’s song. She was quirky. Funny. Insightful. 

The books were still nothing compared to the real deal. She wore the hell out of that red dress and tempted him with thoughts of licking hot fudge off of every exposed inch of her body. Logan pondered their night together at Denny’s, certainly not a romantic venue, but adequate for the purpose of getting to know her, and he came to one inevitable conclusion: He had a massive crush on Ororo. He kicked himself for his indulgence; he wasn’t a pimply teenager with a hard-on for the girls in the posters he hung on his wall. He just couldn’t explain it any other way. She affected him deeply, and he couldn’t get her off his mind.

He didn’t even want to.

He was just unloading a box of Carol’s knick-knacks and old toiletries onto the front porch with it in mind to drive out to see her when he saw her blue sedan pull up into the driveway.

“Ears must’ve been burnin’,” he muttered sourly, straightening up and planting his hands on his hips. She pinned him with a solemn gaze, not wasting his time with a superficial smile. She stepped out of the car and hesitated a moment, hiding herself behind the open door.

“Come an’ get this stuff, darlin’,” he called, nodding to the box. “Ya just saved me the trip.”

“Fine. That’s what I came for.” She sighed. She looked vibrant and healthy; her long blonde hair was blowing around her face, and the cold air made her cheeks rosy. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Ya won’t hafta worry about that if yer not stickin’ around,” he shrugged. Her lips twisted and thinned as she slammed the car door and made her approach.

Something was…different about her, somehow. Her walk. The defensive posture and the protective way her body seemed to bend around her middle. She was still slender and lithe, but there was just…something…

Her scent hit him with a wallop when she reached the foot of the steps. Her own flavors were familiar; her skin held the aroma of soap even when she hadn’t used any, Carol just smelled like an all-American girl next door. He detected the odor of her new man, not caring to distinguish it any further than that…but there was a new tang that seemed to wrap around her like an aura.

“Yer fuckin’ pregnant,” he hissed, narrowing his eyes. She jerked to a stop, teetering on the step and hugging her middle defensively.

“My God…I’m hardly even showing, Logan!” Then she stiffened. “So what if I am?”

“Only thing that matters ta me,” he informed her simply, “is _when._ ” Her shoulders sagged with what could only be called guilt. Sonofabitch.

“Logan –“

“WHEN THE FUCK DID HE KNOCK YOU UP, CAROL?” He heard her stark gasp as she cringed and shrank back from him. Anger churned in his gut and boiled under his skin, cooking him from the inside out. Part of him recoiled at the use of those words, the viciousness of his attack with this woman he once loved so much.

“I…Logan…don’t be this way, stop shouting at me!” She made an attempt at indignance in the face of his wrath. 

“WHEN…did he knock ya up? I knew ya were fuckin’ around. Ya at least had the fucking decency ta admit that, and quit wastin’ both of our time, Carol. But when did this happen? While ya were with me?” She licked her lips and opened her mouth before closing it again. She bowed her head and kept her arms folded beneath her breasts.

“Yes. While I was with you.”

His lips moved of their own accord, but the voice moving them didn’t sound like his. He was a puppet to the betrayal pulsing through him. “Did ya do it on purpose?”

“No.”

“Yer lyin’.” Her furtive eye movement gave it away.

“Logan…no!”

“Ya owe me not ta lie ta me, Carol. I can smell it on ya.” Her scowl was incredulous.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Logan? Lying!” she huffed, throwing up her hands. “Like butter never melted in your mouth! You were perfect, huh? Never did any wrong?”

“I. Never. Cheated. On. You. You fucking bitch.” A heavy, charged energy built between them as they measured each other across the steps. “I loved ya. I was a good husband ta you, Carol, not some pretty fuckin’ boy toy. I thought ya understood me, and I thought I knew who ya were. There were some rough times, but we were two adults who knew how ta work things out, if ya just would’ve talked ta me…”

“You wouldn’t have listened.”

“Bullshit.”

“We had nothing in common.”

“That so?” Color him surprised.

“You and I wanted different things.” Absently, tellingly, her slender hand stroked her abdomen, noticeably rounder now that she wasn’t protecting it. “I wanted this.”

“So did I. Ya just didn’t seem ta want it with me.” He reached down into the box and retrieved a small, hard pink compact. “This look familiar, Ace?” He’d given her that nickname after they’d started having co-ed poker nights at their house. She played a mean game of five-card stud. “Ya can imagine what went through my mind when I found these, just buried in the junk ya didn’t seem ta need anymore.”

“We were good together for a while, Logan. You just…”

“I just _what?_ ”

“You just don’t seem like a family man. You loved me, and you’ve always been strong…but there’s always been this funny little thing about you. Sometimes it just felt like you never needed me. Something in you that I couldn’t touch. Something hard. And it scared me.”

“Scared you.” His breath burned his throat and his fingers twitched before he balled them into a fist at his side. Dimly, he heard the beast snarl low in its chest, baring its teeth. “Fine!” He hefted the box of items in his hands, and she instinctively drew back. “Bet this fuckin’ scares ya, too, then, Ace!” WHUNKK! The box sailed through the air and the cardboard collapsed on one side as it hit the walkway, scattering objects in the grass. His rage ebbed slightly, and he felt himself growing numb.

Any fleeting drop of love that had lingered when they parted evaporated into thin air.

“Holy shit!” she hissed. “Logan, there’s no need! You’re out of control!” she accused, shaking her head, but real fear shone in her blue eyes. “Is this you now, now that we’re not together?”

“This is me after ya killed me. Stabbed me in the back. G’wan,” he barked thunderously, flinging up his hand in a gesture meant to chase her off. “Yer probably right, to a point. I am hard. But ya made me that way. Ya COULDN’T reach me because ya didn’t even try. And if it seemed like I didn’t need ya, then ya need ta think again. I needed ya THEN. I don’t need ya NOW! Not a family man,” he swore, shaking his head. “Ya have no fuckin’ clue, Carol.”

“We aren’t exactly the same age,” she reasoned, trying to bring their talk back on track and gain some leverage.

“Ya knew that goin’ in.”

“You were a workaholic, Logan. You beat yourself to death, you didn’t have time for me, and you were running yourself into the ground. You’re already older than me. What if we had kids?”

“I ain’t geriatric, Ace.” He didn’t have a box of Grecian Formula 44 in his medicine cabinet, last time he checked. He sucked his teeth absently.

And he recoiled as his tongue scraped against the sharpened point of his molar. Carol’s scent changed; it was tinged with fear, and her heartbeat sped in tempo, so soon after she recovered from his outburst. She was genuinely afraid of him.

“If we had kids,” she told him, voice shaking, “you wouldn’t live long enough to raise them with me from the way you push yourself. You’d be hard, Logan. I don’t want children to have a father who’s hard.”

“Way ta tell me how it is. Good job, Carol.” He sized her up, letting a slow smile replace his scowl before he began to clap his hands in a mockery of applause. “Ya’ve got me all figured out. Crappy husband, not the man ya wanted as the father ta yer offspring – not OURS, woman, just yers – and I’m too fuckin’ old.” Then he narrowed his eyes again, letting his smile drop. “Stay right there.”

“Are you kidding?” She ignored him and began to pick up the toiletries and other items from the grass, dumping them back into the ruined box. When she turned back to the porch, he had gone back inside, letting the screen door slam and bounce back off the frame. She shivered.

She didn’t even feel him at her back until his sharp voice broke through her efforts to clean up her things. She jumped at the sound of his words by her ear.

“Here ya go. Take it. Just fucking take it.” She shrank back, staring up at him as he held out his fist, palm down. She stood with some difficulty, staring at him warily.

“What’s that?”

“Just take it. Ya know what it is.” Obediently she held out her hand, still not trusting him.

A thick, gleaming wedding band with small baguettes winked back up at her from where he dropped it.

“You can keep it.”

“Give me one good fucking reason why I should, Carol.”

“I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Ya wanna make good on that now, while I’m still in a good mood.”

“Don’t threaten me!” she shot back.

“I ain’t. I’m just promising ya that I won’t entertain an audience with ya again. Ya’ve got yer own sweet little life. Have as many beautiful babies as ya fuckin’ need ta prove ta yerself that I wasn’t the one who could have been a father to ‘em. But know this.” He was already climbing the steps to the porch, and he turned back to watch her with dark eyes, resigned and still angry. “My life’s just beginning without ya in it anymore. I ain’t ready ta shrivel up an’ die yet, Carol. And I wouldn’t give ya the satisfaction. Just go.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” she hissed, even as she turned to leave with her box and pack it into her sedan’s trunk. She closed it with a slam and shot him a glare that didn’t phase him.

He didn’t climb into his own car and run the rest of his errands until she was long gone, and after he mastered his urge to kick every stick of furniture in the house.

 

~0~

“That’s not a straight answer, sweetie.”

“That’s the best answer you’re gonna get, Al.”

“I can’t get you an advance til you get me a draft.”

“I can’t keep following the same formula and keep the readers coming back, Al. It’s not the advance I’m worried about.” That was a lie; she was still contemplating building an additional room onto her house to convert into a bigger office, so her current one could be her sitting room. “Do you want a draft, or a good story?”

“Your drafts turn into phenomenal stories, Munroe, but give me something to work with.”

Ororo sighed and wandered toward the window, hugging herself as she stared out at the gray sky.

“Ororo?”

Ororo kneaded the nape of her neck and closed her eyes.

“So help me, what am I gonna do with you?”

“I’m scattered. I have a story. I do. I’m just so damned emotional lately! I can’t sort out the characters’ voices in my head from all of the noise.”

“Great. My best friend’s hearing voices.” Ali leaned back in her rolling chair and studied her. “You have been a million miles away lately. Earth to ‘Ro?” She retrieved her cup and idly stirred the murky beige brew; Ali was a flavored creamer addict.

“Sometimes I wish I _was_ a million miles away. I need a vacation.”

“Suck it up. You live on the Vineyard. That’s a vacation all year round in most peoples’ opinion.”

“I’m talking about a pack your suitcases, leave a ‘Gone Fishin’’ sign on the front door kind of escape.”

“Fishing?” Ali wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Like, with hip waders and flannel?”

“No. Just something rustic and quiet.”

“Rustic. Sounds like somewhere with leaky pipes, drafty windows and a sooty fireplace.”

“Mmmmmm.” Her eyes turned dreamy. “That sounds perfect.”

“Then why don’t you at least leave Giblet with me?” Ali suggested. “She’s too spoiled to take out into the wild for…whatever this little quaint trip is you’re planning.”

“My cat’s not spoiled,” Ororo sniffed huffily, craning her head around to glance at Ali.

“Pfft,” Ali snorted into her coffee.

“She’s not,” she insisted hollowly.

“Bring that little kitty bed with the warmer in it and her food dish with the rhinestones. Just let me know how many days you’ll be gone so I can plan on how much food to shop for. Science Diet? Iam’s?”

“Iam’s,” Ororo admitted sheepishly. Okay, maybe her cat _was_ spoiled. Slightly.

“Take your laptop with you.”

“Wouldn’t expect any different from me, would you, Ali?”

“No. So go. Rest. Think. Fish.” Ororo gave her a duck-like pout. “And crank out another bestseller.”

“Don’t you work too hard, either, while I’m gone.”

“Gee, thanks. You’re a peach for thinking about me.” They exchanged a look. Ali threw a paper clip at her, making Ororo giggle.

“What are friends for?”

“Cat-sitting. Oh, and social planning.” Ororo tensed, and winced.

“Al…”

“Pietro is meeting us here for lunch in a half an hour.”

“AL!!!”

“It’s just lunch,” she hedged.

“It’s just too convenient. Tell me something. What is it about this one guy that you want me to hook up with him for?”

“I didn’t say anything about a hook-up.”

“Al, this is so totally a hook-up, it’s not even funny.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Can I help it if I want to see you happy? What’s wrong with having an other half?”

“He’s nice. He’s fine, I guess…but I just don’t get that warm and fuzzy little ‘soda pop’ feeling with him.”

“He’s hot!” Ali exclaimed, slightly indignant.

“So why aren’t you hooking up with him?”

“Because…I don’t know.” Ororo leaned back against the window ledge and folded her arms.

“Geez, Ali. Physician, heal thyself.”

“I don’t think he feels that way about me. I feel like he thinks I’m his kid sister.”

“Ew.”

“Right.”

“Scratch that, then.” Then Ororo had a thought. “So forget Pietro. What about Remy?”

“What, you want to date Remy?” Ali was incredulous.

“No, not me, you dope! YOU!” Ali pushed herself backward in her chair and held out her hands.

“No. Don’t even go there. Not in a million years!”

“Why not? Al, he’s hot. He’s funny. You already spend a lot of time with him.”

“He’s just a buddy.”

“He shows up at all of your parties and goes out with us whenever we hit the town. He remembers your birthday.” A year ago, he gave Alison a pair of salt shakers shaped like mariachis that held a place of honor on her kitchen curio shelf.

“So do you. And you don’t see us hooking up.”

“So I’ll have to stand in line.” Ali snorted a gulp of coffee almost all the way out through her nose, choking and sputtering til Ororo rushed forward and whacked her on the back. “Easy, killer. That one went down the wrong pipe…”

“Don’t do that,” Ali garbled. “I can’t go out with Remy.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll have to stand in line. Women just file in and out like there’s a revolving door. Not flattering to a girl’s ego, ‘Ro.”

“He’s never mistreated anyone, though. He doesn’t cheat. He’s not controlling. And he’s diplomatic about his breakups.”

“So I can expect an easy breakup, that’s what you’re saying?”

“No. You can’t expect much of anything until you call him and give it a try.”

“I might ruin our friendship.” Her face was thoughtful and a little sad. Ali’s blue eyes were soft, as was her voice. “Remy’s special. I could date him. Or he could date me. We could have a little fun. We could get into it. But then things could go south, we might end up hating each other, and then we’d never want to speak to each other again.”

“But it sounds like you really like him.” Ororo had her there. Ali’s answering sigh was heavy. “Al,” Ororo cajoled. Ali rolled her eyes and pouted. “AL!” Ororo sang, not letting up.

“Oh, shut up, you! Okay! I’ll call him. Sheesh.” Ororo beamed.

A staccato knock on the door interrupted them. “Shit,” Ororo muttered before covering her mouth with her hand. Ali snickered under her breath.

“Come in,” she called gaily.

 

Pietro swept inside, resplendent in a three-piece suit and long, wool winter coat. London Fog, or Ororo was whistling Dixie. Despite the high winds outside, his hair hadn’t budged, but his lips were faintly rosy from the cold.

“Are we ready, ladies?”

“Ali mentioned something about lunch?” Ororo said innocently, mentally kicking Ali for this new predicament. Pietro’s smile was knowing and warm.

“Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Ali demurred. “But come to think of it, ‘Ro, ‘Tro, I might need to hang out here. I have to go through my slush pile and work on some reply letters today.”

“Now?” Ororo accused hollowly.

“Mm-hm. Go. Go, go, go. Enjoy lunch, you crazy kids!” Ali shooed them out, handing Ororo her coat. Her friend stood openmouthed while Pietro stood behind her, eyeing her outfit approvingly. Her white sweater dress and alligator belt give her an elegant silhouette and clung to her curves. Before she could don it, Pietro gently took the coat from her and helped her shoulder her way into it. When she was finished, she turned to face his gaze.

His eyes looked hungry. She nervously cleared her throat.

“Pasta?”

“Please,” she replied as Pietro beckoned for her to precede him out the door. She made a note to come back after lunch and get Ali in a headlock…

 

_What is she doing?_

_He needs to take his hands off of her. Look at her face. She’s obviously not comfortable with him, see how she just smiles but leans away. And look at him. Looks full of himself in that fancy coat. Keep on smiling, pal; she’s just not into you._

_She’s taken._

_Bet he doesn’t even know that she hates tomato sauce._

_I don’t know what I’d do if she ever truly left me for someone else. She’s sacred. No one can soil her. She’s an angel. My angel._

_I need to show her. She needs to understand. I can’t be without her._

_And she can’t live without me._

~0~

Lunch was unremarkable. Frustrating, and unremarkable.

Well, okay. It was just frustrating.

“Are you making progress with your new book?”

_Please. Please don’t ask me about my book. Please don’t give me advice._

“I bet it’s hard to get inspired sometimes. You and I should do some sightseeing one of these days.” She nearly dropped her forkful of alfredo penne.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“It’s getting colder. Might be nice to escape some place warm?” He lifted his arched brows suggestively as he cut into his steak.

“I don’t mind winter here.” Even though it was due to go down to ten below over the next week.

“It’s still nice to get away. I still love the Keys. And Baja, or Mazatlan.”

“It’d feel weird to pack a bathing suit to go anywhere in December.”

“Or just different.” He sipped his martini. “Even exciting.”

“So how’s work going for you?” Change the subject. Play it safe. Don’t commit to anything.

Bingo. “Things are moving along pretty fast. I’ve got new clients lined up and new sales accounts to close by the end of the month.” He puffed with pride; he was nearly preening.

“That’s nice,” she agreed.

“I’ve got a board meeting in about an hour.” Long enough for the martini to settle, she supposed. He was, at least, an abstemious drinker. She’d noticed that at Ali’s Thanksgiving party and the ball.

“Sounds like you have a busy day,” she mused, toying with the other half of her noodles.

“I might not have mentioned it today, Ororo, but you look fantastic in that dress.” She blushed from the praise but still felt off.

“It took me a long time to learn how to dress myself. Darn those buckles and buttons. At least I didn’t put it on inside-out.”

“You could still get away with it. Not many women could.” This time, his smile was more wicked, as though he were thinking of reasons why her dress would be left inside-out…she’d walked right into that one.

 

~0~

Music soothed the savage beast. Strains of old blues drifted through Logan’s house as he foraged through the bag of paperbacks and settled into his easy chair with one that had a blood-red cover. _Always Watching You,_ by Ororo Munroe.

He’d immersed himself in it, almost jumping in his chair when his phone jangled from the kitchen. He kicked off his thick throw blanket and rose, taking his time. His machine could pick it up, couldn’t it?

He didn’t want to talk to Carol.

“H’lo?”

“Logan, it’s Mac.”

“What’s happening, man? Didn’t expect ta hear from ya.”

“You still have those emails?” Logan grunted under his breath.

“Yeah, I still have ‘em.”

“Print them. I already spoke to the director of your unit, the guy on the bottom of the chair when they signed off on your retirement. You shouldn’t have been replaced. I made the recommendation to them to harvest from your email account. They actually listened to me. Clem’s going back into the accounts and the ledgers to track those premiums we talked about. It just doesn’t gel.”

“I’ll print ‘em, don’t worry.”

“Good. Don’t send them. The connection might not be secure.” Logan sighed. “I don’t put anything past anybody anymore.”

“Can’t say I blame ya, Mac. Hug Clem for me, ‘kay?”

“She’s hopping. The new guy’s admin really is a piece of shit, just like she said. Never pulls her weight like Clementine. If they look into him, maybe they’ll clean house and get rid of Lorna, too.”

“Lorna who?”

“Nobody you’d know. Lorna Dane.” 

“Hm.” Logan filed the name away for future reference. Why did it sound familiar?

“You keeping yourself busy?”

“Eh. Had a visit from Carol today.”

“Sounds like it didn’t go well.” Logan unclenched his jaw.

“Yeah. Sure didn’t. I’m better off. I really know that now, if I didn’t before.”

“It was that bad today, huh?”

“She got pregnant while she was still with me. On purpose.”

“Ouch.” He didn’t add that he flew off the handle.

“I’m just takin’ a break.”

“Heather was talking about you last night. She wants to fix you up with someone.”

“Ain’t interested.” He answered too quickly. A vision of Ororo eating ice cream and smiling at him floated before him briefly. He absently stroked the cover of her book.

“Already seeing someone?”

“What is this, twenty questions? Just tell Heather I’m doin’ fine where I am right now, all right?”

“Fine, man,” Mac agreed slyly. “Is she a looker?”

Logan bit his tongue thinking about it. A looker? Heck, yeah. Understatement of the year.

“There ain’t much goin’ on, Mac.” Yet.

“The board’s meeting today. I want this to go on the agenda for miscellaneous discussion at the next one.”

“I’ll stand by. Good hearing from ya, bub.” Logan retreated back to his chair and book, but his mind was racing a thousand miles a minute.

He dozed off eventually, curled up in the blanket. The book was face down, still splayed open where he’d left off.

_He was running. It was still cold outside, frigid enough to see his breath and feel the burn in his lungs. The wind coursed through his hair, shaggy and thick from the change in weather._

_He was slowing down. He was stalking. He reached a small copse in the woods and crouched behind a broad oak, nestling himself in the brush._

_He caught a scent._

_Pheasant. Mature. Male. Pungent._

_He licked his chops, and the thrill of anticipation made his blood sing._

_The fowl pecked in the gravel and rich soil, flicking its tail feathers. It was seemingly heedless of being watched, until the wind shifted. Its beady eye scanned its surroundings as he stopped rooting for grubs and seeds._

_Wait for it. Wait for it…_

_He lunged and pounced. Warm blood and flesh filled his maw and clotted around his gnashing teeth._

_He was sated. He was triumphant._

“SHIT!” Cold sweat drenched his skin as Logan bolted upright. He panted harshly and shook.

“I couldn’t have. I couldn’t have,” he rasped. “No fuckin’ way.”

The room wouldn’t stop spinning.

“That ain’t me.”

~0~

Ororo tramped inside and stamped her cold feet in the hall as she hung up her coat. Hot cocoa and fuzzy slippers called her name, and she craved the warm weight of Giblet purring in her lap. She was like a little motor.

As if she were summoned, Giblet materialized and rubbed against Ororo’s legs before she could divest herself of her boots.

“Stinker,” she accused. 

“Meowr,” Giblet shrugged. Her forepaw lightly prodded her knee. 

“I love you, too.”

“Mrowr.”

“Food. I know. Spoiled cat.” She reached for her kitty and she jumped into her arms, settling in for a snuggle. Ororo scratched her beneath her chin as she broke out the can opener and her Iam’s.

She’d just gotten the cat situated with dinner when she perused her refrigerator. She still wasn’t hungry from a heavy lunch. Ororo ended up throwing out the to-go box of pasta after she got back to Ali’s office when her friend didn’t want it.

To date Pietro, or not to date Pietro. Was there even a question?

“He’s just not my type,” she concluded miserably. She couldn’t put her finger on it. It would make it easier if she could.

Ororo wrapped herself in a thick cardigan and went out to pick up her mail. This time, her paper was down at the end of her driveway where it belonged. She opened up her box and took out the thick bundle bound with a rubber band. As she thumbed through it, she noticed a red card envelope that was unusually thick.

No return address or postage stamp. “To Ororo.”

“O-kaaaaay,” she murmured. “Weird.” It wasn’t Ali’s handwriting. She chucked the bills and junk mail onto her settee in the hall before she locked up. She pondered the card on her way to make her chocolate.

The envelope was folded shut, with the flap tucked into the crease instead of stuck shut with adhesive. Someone was very meticulous, she mused.

A low gasp escaped her lips as she unsheathed the card.

Stiff, torn pieces of several of her book covers fluttered down to the floor. The card itself was even more disturbing. 

The front depicted an Ansel Adams nude piece she’d seen before, a photo of two almost identical bodies, one White, one African-American, posed the same and leaning up each other so their silhouettes arched in the same direction. Unlike the originals, this one had been manipulated so there was one man and one woman, instead of two bodies of the same gender. Their faces weren’t showing.

But the woman’s body was bleeding from the neck. Someone had used a fine micro point pen in red ochre ink to scrawl gouts of blood leaking from the figure’s throat.

She dropped it on the floor with shaking fingers, as though it burned her. Goosebumps erupted over her skin.

She ran to the phone to call Ali, and this time, the police.

 

~0~

_I thought she’d like it. I love her. Her writing speaks to me, and I wanted her to see, you know? How else would she know I’ve read all her work unless I show her?_

_Why does she look so scared? Don’t worry, Ororo, my little flower! I’ll protect you. I’ll teach you how I feel, and how much I love you._

_I’ll just have to keep trying. She doesn’t understand. I’ll make her understand._

_And that damned cat still has to go._

 

~0~

“How could anyone do something so fucked up, Ali!” Alison sat beside Ororo on her couch as the police officer continued to search the perimeter of her house. She felt ashamed and embarrassed, calling them out to her home so soon after the incident on the beach.

Those eyes in the dark still haunted her in her sleep. She still heard howling and felt the hot press of those sharp teeth against her throat…

“You should stay with me,” Ali insisted.

“I need to know who’s doing this. I have to find out. This is my life they’re fucking with. Some twisted, sick individual.”

“Ma’am?” The officer was trying to get her attention. “We didn’t’ find any signs of anyone here. The only thing we found were tire tracks out in the gravel that didn’t match your tires, but in all this sand and snow, it’s hard to tell what we’re looking at. No physical evidence except for this envelope.” He held up the plastic evidence bag; Ororo suppressed nausea at the sight of the torn book covers and red envelope.

“I can’t live like this,” she moaned, near tears. “I just can’t.”

“Stay with me,” Ali repeated, refusing to take no for an answer.

“Whoever wants me might follow me to your home, Al! That can’t happen, or they might hurt you.”

“Maybe we could have Remy help. Have him camp out here.”

“He has a life, Al.”

“A man here might make it less tempting for whoever this is to harass you.”

“I’ll mull it over.”

“In the meantime, ma’am, we need you to file a statement at the precinct. We’ll keep someone on this to patrol your neighborhood for suspicious activity.” It didn’t help that Ororo was so far out from her neighbors out here on the shore.

“Thank you, Officer,” Ali said gratefully, patting Ororo soothingly. “We appreciate your time.”

“Call us at the station if anything else out of the ordinary happens, even if it seems minor. Things out of place in or around your home. Phone messages. Letters. Cars you don’t recognize on your property. Anyone unfamiliar who approaches you in the street who makes you uncomfortable. By the way,” he mentioned, “can you think of anyone who would have an interest in threatening you?”

“No!” she cried. “I don’t know anyone who could do something as disgusting as this.”

“I know you’re distraught and upset right now, ma’am, but if you could sleep on it –“

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” she insisted roughly. “There’s someone out there who wants to hurt me.”

“Think about and get back to us if anything comes to mind. We want to help you.” With that, he left.

“Call Remy. Let him stay here,” Ali urged.

“I don’t want him to panic.” Remy was almost as good a friend to Ororo as he was to Ali; their circle of friends was small and close knit.

“But you’ll let me panic,” Ali pointed out. “Remy wouldn’t mind, and he’d do anything for you.” A tear rolled down Ali’s cheek before she could stop it. She made a small sound of anguish, and Ororo enveloped her in a hug that nearly hurt. “And damn it, so would I.” They rocked each other for comfort; Giblet wrapped herself around Ali’s ankles.

“I know.”

“We can both stay. Remy and I.” An idea dawned on Ororo.

“No. But I know someone who canstay with me.”

“Who?” Ororo reached out and brushed Ali’s tears away.

“Logan.” Ali’s mouth dropped open.

“Ororo…are you nuts? You hardly know him!”

“We’ve been talking. Al, he saved my life. I trust him. He wouldn’t have to stay the night. I just want someone to help me watch my house for an hour or two each night. Kinda like a babysitter.”

“He’s a guy. He’s not like Remy, who loves you like a brother, Munroe. He wants to do more than babysit. I think that’s a bad idea.”

“You haven’t met him. You might like him.”

“No. I don’t like this one bit.” 

“Al…I don’t know how to explain it. He makes me feel safe.”

“Plenty of women have felt ‘safe’ with guys who were maniacs and who jacked them up after letting them into their lives.” Ali’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s to say he isn’t the one who sent you this awful letter?”

“The officer said to report anyone I came into contact with who made me uncomfortable. He doesn’t. Not at all; more like the opposite.” She rose from the couch. “I’m calling him. You can even speak to him if you want.”

“Ororo!”

“Chill out, Al.”

“Chill out, she says,” Ali grumbled miserably. “You give me another heart attack, and you tell me to chill out.” Ororo was already dialing the phone.

“Logan?” she began once his phone picked up. Her voice didn’t sound like hers.

“Darlin’? What’s wrong?” His own was groggy but filled with concern. “Ya don’t sound like yerself. Did something happen? Are ya all right?” He heard her swallow and clear her throat.

“I had a strange episode tonight. Someone sent me a threatening letter.”

“Shit!”

“I’m scared. I called the police, but I’m still scared.”

“Do ya want me ta come over? Sit with ya?” Relief flooded her, and she expelled a harsh breath.

“Yes. I really need that. I’d feel safer if you did.” She ignored Ali, who was mouthing “No!” from the couch and motioning negatively with her hands. “Logan? Could you do me a favor?”

“Name it, darlin’.”

“Talk to my friend Ali, and put her mind to rest. Here.” She held out the handset. Ali hesitated. 

“You know I’m not all right with this.”

“Take it. Talk to him.”

“Hello. Yes, I’m Ali. Short for Alison, yes. Ororo’s had a fright, and you can’t blame me for being ready to piss myself over what happened. What did she get in the mail?” Ororo frowned. “I guess you’ll see when you get here. All right. Have Ororo call me when you leave her place tonight.” Her intent was clear: Logan wasn’t staying the night if she had anything to do with it. “Yes, I’ll put her back on.” Her expression was mulish as she gave her back the handset.

“He sounds nice enough,” she conceded, “but be careful. No funny business. Keep your cell phone in your pocket.”

“All right.” She turned away from Ali and resumed her talk. “I’m back.”

“Ya’ve got someone lookin’ out for ya. I’m glad.”

“How soon can you be here?” She felt like she was pleading like a little girl.

She’d never felt so helpless.

“I’m grabbin’ my coat and putting it on now. And ‘Ro?”

“Yes?”

“It’s gonna be okay. I won’t leave ya unless ya tell me to, okay? If it’s not helpin’ ya ta have me there, let me know and I’ll take off.”

“Hurry,” she murmured, and her voice cracked. “Please.”

“Nothin’s gonna keep me from it. Sit tight. I’ll be there.”


	10. I'll Be There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is a hard sell for Ali, more so when Ororo decides to get away with him for a bit.

“Ya need anything?”

“I was planning to fix some hot cocoa,” she admitted, watching him move about in her living room. He laid some of her door snakes around the sills of her picture window, once she told him where she kept them. He went through her house, locking windows and her back door, and going out and doing the same for her car, turning on the alarm. She already felt safer.

He arrived just in time for Ali to leave; she was stubborn about wanting to meet him face to face.

Her greeting wasn’t as stiff as Ororo expected it to be when he showed up outside the door.

“I’m Ali,” she announced before he even said hello. “Come in.”

“I go by Logan.”

“What’s your name, then?” He looked puzzled and chastened.

“James Howlett. Logan’s my middle name, it’s on my driver’s license.” Ali looked like she was cataloguing that bit of information.

“How long are you planning to stay, Logan?” she inquired.

“Til ‘Ro throws me out. However long that she needs ta feel safe.” Ali’s face softened slightly.

“Expect me to call later tonight. Maybe more than once.” Her voice held a hint of warning.

“Good night.” Ororo stepped forward and kissed her cheek. Ali gave her one more dubious look before she took her leave.

“I don’t blame her, ya know,” Logan informed her as he shucked his coat. “After what happened, she doesn’t have any reason ta trust me from Adam.”

“Then should I?” Ororo took his coat and led him inside. 

Her furnishings were cozy. He noticed a collection of seashells and beach glass, and a framed copy of the poem “Footprints” hanging up over the fireplace. Throw pillows and a thick afghan draped her couch. She also had the biggest bookcase he’d ever seen.

“I’m gonna leave that up ta you.” She glanced at him, looking him over.

He was tousled and rugged, just like he had looked before. He smelled faintly of the surf and sand around her property; she wondered if he’d been checking the beach before he came inside. Logan wore a thick, dove gray sweater over his usual plaid flannel, and he chose dark brown, widewale corduroy jeans to stay warm. At Ororo’s behest, he took off his boots and left them in the pantry.

“Meowr.” Giblet appeared and padded over to Ororo, leaping up to be held at the least convenient moment while she searched for her mug.

“Sneaky little critter.” Logan smelled the cat before she even entered the room.

“I hope you don’t hate cats? Are you allergic?” Panic gripped her; she didn’t want him to leave. Her shoulders unknotted themselves as he slowly reached out to let Giblet sniff him. He passed the test; she rubbed the corner of her mouth against his finger and nosed his hand up to encourage him to stroke her. Her purr sounded like a motor. He chuckled as he gave her a hearty scratch behind the ears. The cat’s purr and slow, steady pulse was soothing. “All right. You passed inspection with flying colors.”

“Ya said ya wanted cocoa?” He searched her cupboard. “Where do ya keep it?”

“That one. It’s a box of Hershey’s. I hate the packaged stuff.”

“So yer old-fashioned about yer drinks.”

“Guess I am.” Dutifully Logan retrieved milk and sugar and saw she already had a clean saucepan on the stove, waiting to be used. “Don’t forget the vanilla. Over there.” Then she put down the cat. “I can make it.”

“No. Sit yer butt down and relax.” He nodded toward the living room. “Out. Scram. I’m here ta help ya out, so go ahead and let me help ya out.”

“Yes, sir!” she saluted.

“And take the furball with ya. Let him be a watchcat.”

“Her.”

“Meowr,” Giblet agreed, nudging Logan’s leg. But she still came over and scooped her up. Logan caught the faint scent of Ororo’s hair and skin. He heard her heartbeat.

Slow and steady. It calmed him. Her sapphire eyes searched his face.

“Make yourself at home.” She looked comfy in a pair of homely, blue plaid pajama bottoms, a black, waffle knit henley and her stockingfeet. Her hair was bundled back into a loose ponytail that took a few years off her face. “And thank you.” Her full, luscious red lips twisted into a crooked smile. That look seemed to caress him before she glided back out.

She listened to him banging around in her kitchen, giggling under her breath as he cursed her pots and pans. Soon the scent of cocoa filled the room, along with odor delectable odors she didn’t expect. Soon Logan emerged with a huge bowl of popcorn and a slightly well done frozen pizza.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she tsked, but she was already digging into the popcorn. He hesitated a moment before she remembered herself. Ororo patted the spot beside her. “Sit.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” The couch sagged beneath his weight. Warmth seemed to seep off of him at this close proximity as he contemplated the snacks and reached for his own cup of cocoa. A hot flush swept over her skin and her mouth went dry.

It was strange and comforting, having him here in her home, having him so close. He smelled entirely male. A slightly woodsy cologne mingled with the natural scent of his skin and the detergent in his clothing. Their hands bumped as they each reached for the pizza. Electricity zipped through her limbs at the brief contact, and she swallowed roughly.

“I ain’t used ta seein’ ya like this.” His smile spread slowly across his face as he took in her PJ’s.

“It’s the latest style,” she quipped. “Just Rolled Out of Bed chic.”

“Ya look…cute.”

“I’m a mess,” she chuckled sheepishly.

“Uh-uh. This is just a different side of you. Not the woman on the book covers. Just natural and unspoiled. I like ya undecorated like this.” Pleasure curled in her stomach at the admiration in his dark brown eyes.

She looked vulnerable and sweet. For a moment, when she bent her head and reached for the popcorn, her face was in repose, and firelight flickered over her features.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Now tell me all of what happened.” Her eyes suddenly looked haunted, and she leaned back into the couch as though trying to burrow into it. He felt the fear drift back into her heart. Her whole scent changed, and her breathing sped up. The beast in him bristled and bared its teeth at an invisible threat encroaching upon the woman he wanted to protect.

“They took the card away, thank God. It was awful.”

“The bastard scared ya. Came ta yer house and gave ya something that unnerved ya and made feel invaded? Unsafe,” he concluded. She nodded, and a sheen of tears glazed her eyes.

“This is my home. Someone came here and threatened me in my own home. It’s like nothing’s sacred anymore.” He handed her the cocoa cup; she took it gratefully and downed it in large gulps. His eyes were drawn to her lips as she wiped them with her fingers. “They sent me covers from my books. All torn. And the card…it was disgusting. They drew blood on it.”

“Fuck,” Logan huffed, as though someone knocked the wind out of him. What twisted fuck would do something to ‘Ro like that? Rage welled up in his chest, making it hard to breathe. His hand reached out of its own volition and wrapped itself gently around hers. She squeezed it and bit her lip.

“Why would someone do that to me?”

“I don’t know, darlin’. They’ve gotta be out of their fuckin’ mind.”

“I’ve never done anything that I can remember to deserve that,” she whimpered. She hated how weak her voice sounded. “It was so violent. They mean to hurt me. They’re watching me.” Dread filled her and made her body tense. He felt desperation in her grip; her eyes pleaded with him to tell her it wasn’t true.

“I’m stayin’ with ya. They’ll hafta deal with me if they wanna get near ya. I’m not gonna…hey. Hey, it’s all right,” he crooned softly as she began to break down. Fat tears rolled endlessly down her cheeks and she collapsed, bowing her head all the way into her lap. She felt his meaty palm caress the long, smooth line of her back as she sobbed loud and hard. With only slight urging from his hands, she leaned over til she sprawled across his lap.

“I’m scared, Logan. So damned scared. This isn’t my life. This isn’t supposed to be my life.”

“I’m here, darlin’. I’m right here.” He reached over the side of the couch and dragged a throw blanket over her, snugly tucking her in to make her feel sheltered against him. The low thumps of his heart beat loomed over her as she cried. Her fingernails clutched his pants and twisted the fabric where it bunched in the knees.

Her hair was silky and lush; his fingers twined themselves in it as he rubbed the tension out of a spot behind her ear.

“Yer well known. Ya’ve been out in the open fer a while with yer new book. This is someone getting carried away. But this is yer life. Not that sick fucker’s. So we’re gonna keep ya safe til that guy’s caught. Then ya can take yer life back.” Her cries slowed down to mere gasps. Sadness and rage on her behalf engulfed him. She was huddled against him so tightly, like she couldn’t get close enough.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. All I ever wanted to do was write. I love it. I wanted to share stories with people. It wasn’t about being famous.”

“Not all yer fans are gonna be sending ya nasty stuff in the mail, darlin’.”

“Thank God!” Her tears left damp spots in his cords. He didn’t mind.

They sat and watched TV. She didn’t relinquish her place in his lap. Her cup of cocoa grew stone cold as the night wore on.

It was three hours later before she finally nodded off. When Logan nudged her, her hand fell limp and dangled over the side of the couch.

In the dim light Ororo’s face was innocent and guileless. He studied her profile as he continued to stroke her hair. She sighed and rearranged herself, rubbing against him as he retucked the blanket. Her warm weight lying over him nearly lulled him into sleep himself.

Outside, Logan heard the faint call of a foghorn in the mist. The moon was barely visible, lonely from the lack of stars in the sky.

The hairs on the nape of his neck bristled, standing stiffly as his senses went on full alert.

Someone was outside, lingering by the den. Too close. He suppressed a low whine in his throat. His nostrils flared as his lips drew back from his teeth. Logan clutched Ororo protectively and felt every muscle tense as he peered out through the large picture window.

Nothing. Yet.

He peered back down at her slumbering face. Her silhouette was peaceful, finally, despite her scare that evening, and he hated to move her…

A possessive, undeniable hunger seized him.

_Mate._

He broke out into a cold sweat. _Where had that thought come from?_

“It’s all right, darlin’.” He moved with a purpose. He ever so gently lifted her enough to shift out from under her, lying her back down on the couch. She moaned and smacked her lips but didn’t wake. He watched her sigh and tuck her hand beneath her cheek. He bundled her back beneath the blanket and pulled it up to her chin. As if she wanted to tell him that she’d keep watch in his absence, Giblet hopped up and curled herself against Ororo’s flank. He felt the cat’s hearty purr as he gave it one last scratch behind the ears.

He strode quietly into the hall and turned out the light. He did the same with the kitchen and Ororo’s tiny spare room where she kept her desk.

Every detail in her house stood out sharply in the dark, despite the lack of starlight or porch lights outside. Logan heard the rustle of wind through the beach grass and another foghorn. 

His apprehension grew as he turned the knob, not bothering with his coat. He didn’t anything to encumber him. A frisson of excitement filled him as his heavy footsteps echoed off the wooden steps.

He took inventory of all the scents around him and licked his lips. His whole body changed in increments; he moved more stealthily, walking lower to the ground, head bowed to pick out minute details and movements. His pupils dilated until they were nearly black, but they were still rimmed in otherworldly amber, flickering in the dark like beacons.

A low rumble roughly a meter away startled him, and he bit back a snarl. A motor. He sniffed. A vehicle that ran on diesel. 

It was then that he homed in on another scent. This one was different, distinctive. And it seemed to track along the perimeter of the house. Fresh here, older there. Ororo said police officers had visited her home. He detected their scents, easily, in the confines of her house. But this scent was male. Not young enough to be a teenager. Scruffy. Hygiene wasn’t high on his priority list.

He began a slow jog that sped up to a loping trot through the trees until he came to the road. He was nearly invisible in his gray sweater and brown pants, and his dark coloring blended in with his surroundings. The wind ruffled through his hair, stirring the thickened layer of it that covered his hands, face and neck. Logan was made for the night, making his home among its creatures.

He spotted the car, actually a derelict red pickup truck with Maine plates and a bumper that was practically rusted off. Logan bared his teeth and gave a warning growl in his throat, choosing his moment. He was deathly silent as he watched. The scent was still there, easily leading across the road.

The driver turned on his light briefly and reached for something in his driver side seat. That gave Logan the moment he needed to see his face.

The man was older, and slightly craggy. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled over his eyes and appeared to be large.

He had a distinct scar on the back of his hand, long, angry and puckered. Logan growled in challenge…

As though the man sensed he was being watched, the truck’s high beams suddenly flicked on, and he put the car into drive, tearing down the road. Surprise mingled with disappointment for Logan, and he howled gutturally, starting to run. He’d never moved so fast. Tree branches lashed him, smarting against his face until he reached pavement and bolted down the road. He tasted wind and the scent of Ororo’s stalker, along with diesel fuel and salty spray. He ran and ran, panting, huffing, seething, burning…

He stayed less than a half a mile behind him until he moved his truck into second gear and sped off.

Logan saw all he needed. Some primitive urge, unbidden, gripped him and made him throw his head back and howl, long and low, warning the predator not to return to his den and threaten his mate.

 

~0~

He didn’t know how he ended up in the comfortably appointed bedroom. All he felt was someone stirring beside him, and he heard a soft, feminine moan.

The clock on the bedside table said eight AM. His legs felt…heavy. Almost as though he ran the night before, which made no sense. His feet were a different story; they were gritty, as though someone rubbed his soles with sandpaper.

“Shit,” he muttered. He rubbed sand and grit from his eyes and wiped his face with his sleeve. He’d slept in his clothes. In a bed with a handmade quilt and afghan. Fancy candles, books and figurines adorned half the empty space in the room. The sun was barely visible through the mist, but the glare from the beach was still bright, shining in through the window.

Beside him, Ororo smacked her lips. She was huddled beneath the blankets, but this time her hair was thoroughly tousled. She still held her hand tucked beneath her cheek. The stray one crept out and nudged him briefly, and if he guessed right, petted him.

“Mmmmph…Giblet, izzat you, baby? C’mere, kitty; Mommy’s got num-nums.” Logan suppressed a snort and grinned. She heard the sound escape him, and her eyes snapped open.

“Oh, my God!” she cried hoarsely. “Logan! What…wait, what are you doing here?” She stared at his rumpled clothing and hair. “How did you…how did I get…here?”

“Ya got me.”

“I don’t remember coming to bed.”

“Guess I carried ya.” He was still smiling, enjoying her consternation despite himself. She managed to still look cute, even disheveled. She licked dry lips; that act made them look slightly rosy and very inviting. He was glad when she didn’t shy away as he plucked a lock of hair aside that was stuck to the corner of her mouth. Her skin felt sleep-plumped and smooth.

“You guess?”

“It was a late night. I don’t even remember much about how I got in here, either.” Then he mentioned “How did ya sleep, ‘Ro?”

She cracked a sheepish smile. “Like a log. I think…it might have been because you were here. I felt…well, I felt…safe.” That touched a chord inside him, and warmth filled his chest.

“Ya did?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded earnestly, staring at him with hooded eyes. “This is awkward, isn’t it?”

“I don’t feel awkward.”

“Oh. Um, do you want breakfast?”

“I could eat. But no rush.”

“It’s the least I can do. And, Logan? Thank you.” She studied his face intently. “Would you find it too weird if I added a kiss to that thank you?” Her eyes were liquid and endless. 

Euphoria swept over him, and it took him a moment to process what she was asking him, followed by joy. Slowly he shook his head, and she lowered hers, dipping to brush his lips.

He tasted like sleep, and undeniably male. His lips were firm and succulent, yielding beneath hers. She teased him as he let her take the lead; gentle fingers traced his jaw and threaded through his thick black hair, savoring the soft, springy texture. 

Excitement and mutual satisfaction wrapped them in a cocoon. Pleasure tingled in the tips of her breasts and pooled in her belly. Her heart pounded as hard and as fast as his own. Arousal enhanced her natural scent, rousing the beast from its slumber.

_Mate. Mine._ He sighed and gave in to the temptation to touch her, covering her hand that cupped his face and stroking the length of her arm. She shivered and moaned into his mouth.

“Mmph…” she murmured as she pushed him back, watching him with sultry eyes that were suddenly looking up at him, not down: She was lying on her back, and his broad frame was nearly covering her.

She looked, tasted and smelled good enough to eat. Ororo licked her lips, which pushed him closer to the edge. He wanted more. So much more…

_Submit!_ Logan’s nostrils flared. Denial flooded through him. _Take her. It’s your right._

No. It’s not. I won’t. It’s up to her.

_You protected her. She’s your mate. You’re an alpha. This is your territory; you’ve shared a den with her. It’s your **right.**_

That’s not how I want her. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. 

_Don’t be weak._

I ain’t weak!

He steeled himself and clenched his eyes shut, pained at the emotions overwhelming him. Disgust, even self-hatred for thinking about her this way. She was fragile, sensitive and innocent. Sacred.

“Logan? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he replied, clearing his throat and gently releasing her, but not before tracing the curve of her lip with his fingertip. “We’re both up. Might as well get outta bed.” He saw it dawn on her how awkward the situation really was. She flushed and bit her lip. He wanted to groan. She was doing it again, damn it! “Hey, uh, ‘Ro?”

“Hmm?”

“Yer welcome. Really.” She sighed, and then she smiled at him. No harm, no foul.

Ororo leaned up and peeled back the covers, signaling to Logan to move aside. She stretched like a cat, straightening long, graceful limbs and exposing her taut stomach as the hem of her top rode up. She was killing him.

She wasn’t much better off. He was ridiculously sexy and still looked like he belonged in bed. Hers. Sans clothes.

“Coffee,” she announced. “And whatever I have in my refrigerator.”

He hazarded a request. “Ya got anything with some meat in it?” She grinned.

“I’m a sucker for a fattening brunch on days where I stay home. What’s your poison? Eggs? Bacon? Ham? Sausage?”

“Yes.”

“Which?”

“The whole list. All of the above.”

“No wonder Giblet likes you,” she chuckled, winking at him saucily. “Don’t be surprised if she wants to hang on you under the table in case you drop anything from your plate.”

“If I do, it’s fair game.” Logan and the beast within him observed one of the first laws of nature: Eat whenever you have the opportunity, and catch as catch can.

An hour later, they were both lazing at the table, chairs pushed back and thoroughly sated.

“It should be illegal to eat that much meat in one sitting,” Ororo murmured, smothering a belch. Logan feigned jumping back in his seat, looking appalled. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“My kinda woman,” he shot back. He pantomimed talking on the phone with his thumb and pinky. “Hello, Mom? I’ve just met the future mother of your grandchildren. Here, pull her finger!” She collapsed into giggles. “She can burp the alphabet. It’s a gift!”

“Stop!” she cried, peering up at him through her fingers. He shot her an innocent look that only made her howl, shoulders shaking until she thought she would choke. She finally sighed and stared at him, lips twitching.

“I like having you here,” she admitted.

“No complaints here.”

“You make me feel safe, Logan. Somehow,” she mused, toying with her depleted orange juice, “it feels like nothing bad can happen to me when you’re around.”

“And it won’t, unless I’m cold and dead in the ground, darlin’.” The longer she stared into his eyes, the more she lost herself. She sickened at the thought of anything happening to him.

“Don’t say that.”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” Before she could say anything else, her eye was caught by the red flashing light on her answering machine from its perch on the kitchen counter.

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s up?”

“Ali. That’s what’s up. Or who’s up. Those voice mails have to be her.”

“Oh. Oops.”

“She’s going to kill me.”

“Ouch.”

“She might decide to kill you, too.”

“Then she’ll hafta kill me first. That rule I mentioned earlier still applies.”

“That’s noble of you, but you’re still a stinker.” She sighed and rose from her seat. “I’d better get that.”

“Then I’d better take off.” She pouted. He beamed, and then Logan rose as well, circling the table to wrap his arm around her waist just as Ororo hit play.

“ _Ro, it’s me. Just checking in with you. You know why. Pick up the phone.”_

_“Hey again. Why aren’t you or your bodyguard answering? Pick up! Wake up, then pick up! Bye.”_

_“Don’t put it past me to come back over there and to bring Remy with me…”_ Ororo cringed in embarrassment. Three messages and counting. She tingled when Logan’s embrace around her waist tightened and his lips grazed her shoulder. Her fizzy joy evaporated as the next message spilled forth.

“ _Ororo! Why aren’t you picking up? Please tell me nothing’s happened to you, please! Remy’s here with me! We can both come by…please pick up. I know you might be asleep by now…_ Ororo swallowed a thick lump in her throat when she noticed the timestamp of two-fifteen. “Call me in the morning. If you don’t by nine, I’m coming over there.”

“Shit,” Logan muttered, echoing the guilt that she felt. “That sounds bad. We did a number on yer friend, darlin’. She’ll wanna have my hide.”

“I’ll talk to her.” She wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable flaying and flailing, but she wouldn’t avoid it. From Ali or Remy.

The answering machine played another message from Ali, but this one was cut short by Remy’s voice in the background. “ _Call her in de mo’nin’, petit. Come ‘way from de phone.”_ Logan huffed in surprise.

“Wow. How does he rate where we don’t?”

“He’s Remy. No questions asked.”

“Eh. Fair enough.” He nuzzled her neck, and she arched back into him, longing for more of his touch. “I’m gonna go. Yer gonna be fine?”

“I think so. I’m calling Ali, so she’ll know where I am, which helps. No matter what happens,” and the chink in her armor showed, “at least more than one person will know where I was last.”

“I’m stayin’,” he said flatly, lips grim.

“No. I’ll call you. I have to go out today and talk to a travel agent.” He raised his brows.

“Why?”

“I want to book a cabin.”

“NOW?” He was incredulous.

“Yes. Now. I was planning a vacation before this happened. I need some time away from my house. And I need to feel as though I’m not this sick bastard’s hostage.” 

His jaw worked in frustration. “Can I convince ya that this ain’t a swell idea?”

“Not right now.”

“Ali know about this?”

“We talked about it, sure, before the card came.”

“Then she might feel the same way I do about this little trip of yers.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Like yer stickin’ yer neck out when ya’ve already had a scare.”

“I’ll be fine.” Her voice was calm.

“Ororo…” He clenched his fists, brimming with denial and loaded for bear.

“Go home and pack.” That took the wind from his sails.

“Come again?”

“Come with me.”

“On vacation.”

“You’re retired. Why not?”

“A cabin.”

“For a few days.” She was nonplussed, but the notion appealed to her and made her warm.

“When?”

“As soon as I can book one.”

“How about on Friday?” It was two days away.

“Why Friday?”

“Cuz I have a cabin.” He couldn’t believe how things were unfolding, and was trying not to pinch himself. 

His cabin. With Ororo.

“Ali’s gonna hunt us both down and hang my skin on the wall.”

“She’s more into bear skin rugs.”

“That ain’t comforting.”

“So we’re going.”

“Heck, yeah. Bring heavy socks and some sweaters. It’s got a fireplace, but it gets drafty, and this time of year, the nights are cold as a witch’s tit.”

He was gone after one more kiss by the front door. She waved from the porch, teeth chattering from the nippy morning before she went to call Ali.

She picked up on the third ring, which surprised her. Ali practically had the phone welded to her palm.

“I knew it was you,” Ali insisted triumphantly. “Now where the heck have you been?”

“Here with Logan. Al?”

“Yes?”

“Why aren’t you asking me how the fuck dare I not answer the phone last night? Your last message practically made me cry!”

“Good. You deserve to shed a few tears after what you put me through. Doesn’t she, Rem?” Ororo scowled.

“Wait…” she looked at her clock. It was ten-thirty. “What’s he doing over there so early? And why aren’t you more pissed off at me?”

“He’s not here early.”

“Bullshit.”

“He’s not,” Ali argued. “He’s…staying late.” 

Ororo screamed, then did a little Snoopy dance in the kitchen.

“Yessssss! I want details!”

“No you don’t!”

“Yes I do…well, scratch that. No I don’t. But Ali, HOW?”

“Tell her, Remy,” Ali urged, and she heard the rumble of his laughter in the background before he took the phone.

“Mo’nin’, petit.”

“You dirty dog.”

“Remy takes it ya slept all right, den. Gave Ali a fright an’ kept her up all night.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Worried me for a minute, too. De night o’ de party dat ya missed when ya got attacked, chere, Ali here was inconsolable. Cried an’ cried. Dere was no makin’ her feel better when ya got y’self hurt. Wuzn’t much consolin’ me, either, petit.” Ororo hugged herself but brightened. “So she called me over t’talk.”

“I guessed that much.”

“We both concluded that y’should’ve called back. We argued about it a bit. Den we talked about it a bit. Den we agreed t’disagree and sleep on it.”

“And did you?” Her voice was rife with innuendo.

“Not. Much.”

“Hah!” It was a triumphant, gloating “Hah!”

“So where’s Logan?” Ali came back on the phone.

“He just left. We had breakfast.”

“Really?”

“Just…breakfast. And we got some sleep. A lot of sleep, now that I think about it…I sawed logs.”

“Wow.”

“I know. I didn’t hear shit when the phone rang.”

“And you scared the shit out of me…again!” Ali made a long, loud noise of aggravation. Ororo sighed.

“Chill with Remy. I’ll call you later tonight.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Going shopping for socks.”

“Socks. Okaaaaaaay. Promise me, then, that you’ll come over tonight.”

“What, dinner?”

“Yes. Dinner. Bring Logan with you, I guess. I won’t stop worrying about you with him unless I get to know him any better.”

“You just want Remy to meet him so reach a consensus of whether to save me from him.”

“Bingo.”

“We’ll bring wine.” They rang off. At least they understood each other.

 

Ali settled back against Remy and snuggled back under the covers. 

“Ya feel chilly, chere.” Her skin was chilled from exposing it when she grabbed the phone and brought it back to bed. Her bare foot nudged him and he sandwiched it between his ankles to warm her cold toes.

It was delicious, lying cradled there with him as though she were always meant to be there. He nibbled her temple and rumbled his contentment.

“Been a long time dat I’ve t’ought o’ dis, chere. Wi’ you. It wuz hard.”

“What was?”

“Wonderin’ whether t’push de envelope an’ end up wi’ less than what we had if t’ings went sour, or sent south.”

“So what’d you decide?”

“Dat de only way t’make sure was to be wi’ you. Couldn’t stay away when I knew y’needed me. Wanted t’be wi’ you, chere. Hate it when y’get scared. Don’ cry no mo’, Ali.” She turned turquoise blue eyes up to his handsome face, still stubbly and endearing, framed by thoroughly disheveled auburn hair. He kissed her upturned nose.

“Whatever you do, don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about when I say that I’m crazy about you, Remy. I’ve always been crazy about you.”

“Shit. Den why y’wait so long t’tell Remy dis?” She pinched him. He leaned down and bit her upper lip lightly, and he swallowed her yelp.

“Hello? Revolving door of hot women that never last more than a month.”

“Y’always acted like y’didn’ t’ink Remy wuz capable o’ a real relationship, so dat drove me ta de sidelines, just waitin’ fo’ a pass. Known ya fo’ a long time, chere.” He curled her body more snugly into the contours and slopes of his, fitting them together like puzzle pieces. “Didn’ know how t’convince ya dat I wanted more.”

“You think we could make this work? I just don’t know. If we screw this up, which we might have already done, Rem, this is it. Our friendship might not make it.”

“Ali. Listen t'me: Ya’ve been on Remy’s mind mo’ den a hard-on, square meal when he’s hungry, or a utility bill befo’ payday dese past couple years now. No otha woman makes me feel de way y’do, Alison.” It was perfect when _he_ called her that.

She melted.

“I love you, chere.”

She died. She cried.

 

~0~

“Pietro? Call on line two,” Lorna chirped from his doorway. She was pretty and pert in an emerald green dress that, amusingly, matched her hair. She was formerly a hair show model, and her latest bob was the after result of an expo in Boston.

She looked at him with that familiar hunger in her eyes that had lately started to bore him. He had bigger fish to fry. He mulled his most recent lunch with Ororo.

He was wearing her down. All he had to do was press his advantage…she was a novelty. Pietro enjoyed novelties. He’d never slept with a bestselling novelist before. She had an active imagination.

That could make things interesting.

He nodded to Lorna. “I’ll take it in here. Just transfer it to my line.”

“Thank you, Pietro.”

“Bring me coffee?”

“Cream and sugar?”

“There’s my girl,” he cheered briefly before hitting the speaker on his phone. Lorna tossed him a look over her shoulder before she swept out.

“This is Pietro, how may I help you?”

“It’s Magnus,” a resonant voice boomed. Pietro grinned smugly, glad the old man couldn’t see him. “I wanted to know if we could impose on your busy schedule and set a meeting.”

“This is sudden, but I’ll see what Lorna can throw together.”

“See that she does, posthaste.” Pietro’s smile faltered a bit at his tone.

“Is there something urgent you need to bring up at the meeting?”

“My admin will send yours the agenda once it’s scheduled. It won’t be too arduous.”

“I look forward to seeing you and discussing whatever it is, sir.” He was deferential toward the old tycoon, himself a CEO of a firm nearly as prestigious as AlphLight.

He didn’t return the well wishes. Pietro’s hackles went up when he simply said “I’ll be in touch.” Lorna materialized in his doorway again.

“What did he want?” She noticed the look of consternation on his face. “What’s wrong, Pietro?”

“Nothing. Just business. Schedule a meeting,” he added as an afterthought.

Pietro was slightly unsettled for the rest of the afternoon. Something felt as though it was hovering over the horizon, looming ominously as a storm cloud.


	11. The Better to See You With, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ororo and Logan get away from it all. Or so they think.

“Just whaddya think yer doin’, woman?”

“What?” Her tone was guileless and slightly defensive. “Nothing…nothing!” She clapped the object in question shut, suddenly looking guilty. A grunt escaped him.

“Ya wanted ta come out an’ rough it. That ain’t roughing it. Yer s’posed ta be on a vacation.”

“This _is_ my idea of a vacation. I like to get away to write, it helps me loosen up!”

“Ya wanted ta get away. Ya can write any time at home. So that means no laptops. What vacation means while yer here with me includes or may exceed the following. We hike. We eat. We rough it. We stargaze.” This was met by a brief snort, but his expression was warm. “We cuddle under a quilt when it gets cold outside.”

“Cuddling.” She latched onto the word hopefully, testing it on her lips. “You never mentioned anything about cuddling.”

“Call it an amenity.” His smile rose a notch, matched by a wicked gleam in his eye. “Comes with turndown service an’ a wake-up call.” Heat flooded her cheeks, and her lips twisted impishly from behind the curtain of white hair as she ducked her face.

Logan stood in the doorway of the rustic-looking bedroom, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was dressed for the outdoors in a thick, black down jacket and stiff Levi’s. His boots showed signs of wear and tear expected of his active lifestyle. His cheeks were already slightly ruddy from the cold, as were the tips of his ears. Ororo dutifully rose from the wedding ring quilted, queen-sized bed in the guest room and met him by the door. He stiffened when she touched him, reaching up to smooth an errant lock of his hair. She found that a handy excuse for tweaking his ear and rubbing some warmth back into his chilled flesh.

“Poor baby,” she mused. “You’re all cold.”

“I’m warmin’ up, slowly but surely,” he shrugged. He was enjoying her nearness and addictive scent. His body leaned in toward hers instinctively, almost magnetically. His knotted scarf grazed her breasts as she palmed his jaw.

“I could help you with that,” she offered huskily as her breath steamed his lips. Voices warred inside his head, and his hands itched to reach for her and drag her back onto the bed, make short work of her clothes…

“Uh-uh.”

“What?” The spell was broken. He almost laughed at the look of disbelief on her face.

“I’m gonna help ya into yer coat, an’ we’re heading outside. I wanna show ya around.”

“You already gave me the nickel tour,” she pouted. He was already backing away from her, even though he regretted it.

“Just of the cabin. Ya haven’t seen the grounds yet. You’ll like it,” he promised. She snorted indignantly. “Ya will.” Ororo threw him a dirty look over her shoulder as she rummaged in her satchel and retrieved an impractically thin cashmere scarf. The periwinkle blue brought out her eyes, and he stared at her slender throat as she covered it, tying the soft knit around it.

Unbidden, the memory of her red gown at the restaurant and of _that mouth_ licking up ice cream in a crowded restaurant caught him in a choke hold. Damn it.

“Tell me that ain’t all yer wearin’, as cold as it is out today!”

“Of course not,” she chided him, reaching for her thick coat hanging over the bed post. He sighed as she fastened the large tortoiseshell buttons, but Logan contented himself with straightening out her collar and freeing the length of thick waves caught underneath.

“I’m gonna hafta save ya from yerself. Didn’t yer mother ever tell ya ta bundle up in the cold so ya don’t get sick?” She stuck out her tongue at him.

“I grew up in the cold. Upstate New York, before I ever moved to the Cape. Cold enough that your lips cracked when you smiled.”

“Ouch,” he murmured thoughtfully as he traced her lower one, pouty and full, inviting caresses. She toyed with the zipper pull on his jacket, looking like a woman on a mission. _Naked. Warm inside. Let’s hibernate…_ Logan felt a clench in his loins and shook it off. There she was, doing it to him again. He collected her hand from his coat and nipped the tip of her finger.

Amidst more pouting, chiding and muttered reassurances, they were off, tramping down the wooden steps and into the snowy brush.

 

~0~

“I think the sooner we can get started, the better,” Magnus informed Pietro as they settled in the conference room. Magnus’ secretary, Magda, stood and drew the blinds in the spacious room and asked if any of them wanted water. Magnus gently waved away the offer before Pietro could voice his own needs.

“You said it was urgent,” he mused.

“Indeed. I wanted to speak with you about our accounts with AlphLight and some inconsistencies with how the deal was closed and finalized. We have records of paying our premiums in June, here, on the first.”

“Certainly. It was a timely payment that we posted the same day,” Pietro assured him confidently.

“It’s how it was credited that concerns us. We appreciate your part in helping us establish our holdings with your firm, Pietro, but allow me to be blunt. One of your agents, your predecessor, I believe, wasn’t credited with closure of the sale, nor was he given the commission he had due.” He handed Pietro a copy of his ledger sheet, prepared by his own admin. Magda looked grave sitting beside him as she shuffled the sheaf of papers into a tidy stack. 

“My predecessor?” Pietro echoed hollowly, slowly allowing his smile to fade. “I came into this firm in a newly created position. My own achievements should be under discussion here, not those of someone who isn’t even with the company anymore!”

“His achievements appear to be your achievements.” Magnus’ voice was wry. Lorna sat motionless and stunned; Pietro felt an ugly, hot flush rise up from his collar to his hairline as he fumed. Disbelief knotted his stomach and made him taste metal. “The ledger dates and premiums tell us something we aren’t pleased to hear, Mr. Maximoff. We feel you diverted the funds we entrusted to your company.” Pietro scanned the conference room numbly; his fingertips felt icy.

His hands landed on Mac Hudson and his plump admin, Clementine. He suppressed a sneer at the strange gleam in her eyes. _I know what you did,_ her face seemed to say. He longed to wrap his hands around the flabby folds of her neck and squeeze until her eyes –

“Have you anything to say for yourself, Pietro?” Magnus removed his reading glasses and dangled them by the gold wire stems.

“I’m not sure why I need to explain myself, sir.” He laid down the ledger and leaned back in his chair, smoothing out the cuff of his suit jacket.

They were a study in similarities as their eyes challenged each other across the table. Magnus was a well-maintained man in his early sixties, a hop, skip and a jump from retirement that would still find him working a nine to five, even if only as a consultant or contractor. His gleaming, silver waves of hair owed their brilliance to an excellent barber. He favored a no-nonsense black, wool gabardine suit that made him look like a banker. His face was scantly lined and deep brackets framed thin, well-shaped lips. His eyes were narrow and a flinty gray that only hosted warmth when he laughed. 

Pietro was lean and trim. His broad shoulders tapered to a waistline free of love handles of excessive living. He was also conservatively coifed and wore Stacey Adams wing tips gleaming with polish. Anyone on the street would mistake the two men for father and son just by token of their charismatic bearing and sharp features. Magnus, for all intents and purposes, was the kind of man Pietro pictured himself as in twenty, no, thirty years.

Those dreams crashed and collided against the porcelain as they were flushed down the toilet. Cold prickles washed over him despite the warmth of the conference room.

“I don’t know that it would help you, even if you could, son. Magda has something for you. It’s a copy of the contract agreement countersigned and executed by a James Howlett, with the terms of service and acceptance of the policy he sold to Dane Holdings and its subsidiaries.” His voice grew more steady and monotone as he paraphrased the language in the agreement. “Note where it says that the undersigned, Dane Holdings, LLC, reserves the right to appeal any breach of the terms of contract and invoke its termination pending review?”

“Breach of contract?” Pietro’s voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “We’ve made no breach of contract.”

“Pay particular attention to this clause about conflicts of interest. Miss Dane, I was somewhat surprised to see you here today at this conference, but it might have proved a godsend and eliminated an additional meeting and review by Human Resources.” She stifled a gasp and clenched her fists in her lap. Pietro caught a glimpse of white knuckles from the corner of his eye and felt tension leaking from her body. He stiffened and ignored her discomfiture. “We were initially ecstatic to hear that someone with credentials as impressive as yours, Pietro, would be handling the acquisition of her accounts. Your education and experience precede you, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that Dane Holdings was the first client you assumed from Mr. Howlett during his exit.”

“He took early retirement, one of the options we offered him when his position was dissolved,” Mac explained cordially. Pietro saw something steely in the older man’s gaze. _Smug bastard._ He knew where his loyalties lay.

“Lorna, when you exited Dane Holdings, your employee performance records were impeccable. However, you signed a no-compete agreement when you resigned, stating that you were leaving behind any and all benefits and intellectual property of Dane Holdings, LLC. Including account date and financial information meant to be confidential, regardless of business transactions between firms that are potentially our competitors, no matter the relationship.”

“Mr. Lensherr,” she began nervously, stammering, “surely you don’t believe…I resigned!”

“We pulled your personnel file,” Mac informed her crisply. “You came to work for AlphLight two weeks before Pietro assumed his position. In light of the information we discovered while we reviewed Pietro’s activities, you can’t be surprised that we reviewed yours, as well, as his personal, executive assistant.”

“I-I…please, you’ve got it all wrong, it isn’t…” Her blue eyes welled with tears. Lorna’s hand drifted across the table toward Pietro. She stared at him beseechingly, revealing the real relationship between them. Pietro’s brow knotted with anger. _Shut up, woman, shut up!_ “I didn’t do anything appropriate. I left the company in good circumstances, with no ill will! I’d never jeopardize Dane Holdings, when you treated me so well!”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Dane, your subsequent employment here following so shortly after your resignation raised a few eyebrows and made it necessary to investigate. That included having our information technicians retrieve your outgoing email. Your working relationship with Mr. Maximoff has been noted as inappropriate for employer and subordinate.”

“What do you mean?” she sobbed. Clementine and Magda watched her with little pity.

“Your employment here has been terminated forthwith. Clementine will be on hand while you clear out your desk of your belongings. Then you will be escorted out of the building. Your security clearance will be revoked, including all passwords, badges and certificates.”

“That’s not fair! How can you do this to me? ‘Tro…they can’t do this!” she sobbed, ending on a hiss. Her tearstained stare pinned him but left him cold.

“Pietro, in light of the information disclosed during our review, you’re being asked to resign from AlphLight Industries and its subsidiaries forthwith.”

“Asking me to resign? I’m being canned,” Pietro argued stonily. His jaw worked as he fought to contain his rage. It burned hotly in his stomach and radiated from his pores. _Fired. Those bastards. I worked my way to the top, you sonofabitch. Old, dried up bastard. You were just waiting to shove me and watch me fall…_ Pietro heard a droning, piercing scream in his ears that made his temples ache.

“We’d prefer to document your departure from the company as a resignation; the public at large doesn’t need to know how you were separated. Dane Holdings and AlphLight hold the common interest in avoiding bad press. Mr. Hudson’s director has prepared your severance materials here. You may take these and review; feel free to retain legal counsel if you don’t agree with the terms of the paperwork…”

“Of course I don’t agree,” Pietro laughed humorlessly, throwing up his hands and shoving himself away from the table.

“Mr. Maximoff,” Magnus cautioned. “I advise you to remain calm until we’re ready to adjourn. Do you understand the topics discussed at this meeting?”

“Fuck understanding,” he grated through clenched teeth. His face was dark with anger, and he plowed his hands through his carefully combed waves of hair. He suddenly looked disheveled and cast adrift, all signs of the confident young buck wiped away.

“Pietro,” Magnus sighed, “don’t make me call security. Mr. Hudson, would you please see Mr. Maximoff and Ms. Dane out?”

 

~0~

“Bet you can’t do that again,” Ororo challenged. Logan’s glance was sly and smug as he hooked the flat stone between his finger and thumb. A quick whip of his wrist sent it flying over the surface of the pond, cracking the thin cake of ice spreading across its surface. “Show-off.”

“Can’t help it if I’m the best,” he shrugged. She lightly shoved him with her shoulder.

“The best at rock skipping.”

“Eh. Why not?”

“Gads…this is what you do with your retirement?”

“Among other things.”

“Such as?”

“This,” he offered. She gave him a look. “Ya know…hunting. Camping. Working around the house. I’m adding an extension next spring.” That changed her tune.

“That’s wonderful. What do you plan to add to the cabin?”

“A back deck. A big one. And a Jacuzzi. Already got the building permit ta add on ta my property, even though my neighbors aren’t close.”

“How often do you even stay out here?”

“Every chance I get. Haven’t decided whether or not to sell the house.” It had been weeks since he exited AlphLight, and he was still waiting for Mac and Clem to come through for him. A couple of offers landed on his plate, but nothing offered the same package he’d grown accustomed to, but his livelihood depended on whatever he chose, more then actual survival.

His worries became a dim echo when he was in the woods. Carol never enjoyed the simple lifestyle as much as he had…in hindsight, that should have been a red flag.

“How about you, darlin’?”

“What about me?” she chuckled, nudging him again. He nudged back.

“Ya seem like a city slicker.”

“Am not! I live on the beach, so I’m not that sheltered!”

“Ain’t the same.”

“It is for me. But I like this. Once in a while, it’s just…nice. I have to get away from it all. Hear nothing but my own thoughts. Helps me write. Helps me think.”

“Ya holdin’ up okay?” She sighed heavily and her lips tightened, cutting off a puff of frosty breath. He felt her tense.

“I don’t know. No. I’m not, and I’m trying…someone’s keeping tabs on me. Someone wants to hurt me.” She stared out across the pristine gray surface of the water, watching the mist gather over it from the fog that began rolling in out of nowhere. Had to love New England weather that changed every five minutes…

His thick, gloved fingers wrapped around hers, lending her comfort. He squeezed them and lent her his strength. His voice was insistent with its typical, growly burr. “Yer safe here. I promise ya that yer safe any time yer with me, ‘Ro. Every moment of every minute.” His eyes were thoughtful and vehement with this statement, and he watched her shiver.

“I don’t know why it’s so easy for me to be with you, and to believe you when you say that. What is it about you, Logan?” She studied him, letting her eyes rove slowly over the planes of his face. “There’s something about you that’s just…strong. Steady. I hardly know you.”

“Does that scare ya, darlin’?”

“It should.” Then she scoffed, “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t call up just anyone and invite them out for ice cream and into my house to play with my cat.” His lips twisted, and this time she was on the receiving end of a rough nudge. She huddled against him for warmth, mentally kicking herself for not listening to him before. She shrugged more deeply into her coat and adjusted her scarf. 

“The most I can do ta fix it, darlin’, is ta let ya know me. Whatever ya wanna know about me.” He delved into his coat pocket and handed her his wallet.

“Silly! What’s this?”

“Go ‘head. Look at it.” She laughed as she opened up the worn leather billfold.

“Oh,” she crowed triumphantly, “look at you! Look at this ID photo! Sooooo sexy!”

“It ain’t that bad,” he harrumphed.

“No. Mine’s much, much worse.” She fingered the plastic sheath, tracing his features. “I didn’t know you were that old…”

“Hey!”

“Silly. You look great.”

“Fer a fossil?”

“Stop that,” she scolded, pouting. “You’re a Taurus?”

“Guilty.” He didn’t know what bearing that had on anything.

“Then you’re protective,” she asserted.

“Eh.” He couldn’t argue that.

“Stubborn. Generous. Hot-tempered. Possessive. Open. Loyal,” she continued as she folded his wallet shut. “Virile,” she whispered. “Strong.” When she tucked it back into his hand, she covered it with hers and leaned into him again, closing the chilly gap between them. “Sensual,” she murmured, nuzzling the tip of his nose and allowing her lips to graze the corner of his mouth. He cleared his throat and drank in her scent, her voice.

Her heart was pounding. For him. He felt the throb of her pulse even through his gloves; her eyes were still pure blue despite the gray sky, but they were a darker cobalt to reflect her mood.

“Got all that from my ID?”

“That’s not all I was hoping to get,” she admitted, brushing his lips teasingly. She released his hand and instead stroked his firm cheekbone with her trembling thumb. He could feel the effect he had on her in his gut, to say nothing of his loins. Traitorously his privates drew themselves up into a tight, stiff lump.

“Ororo,” he whispered,” please…” She ducked her face for a moment, staring into his eyes. Provoking the beast. His exhalation was sharp and ragged as he, too, broke their gaze, only to look back again. His nostrils flared. Her eyes dilated. All he heard was the wind stirring the bare, black branches overhead and the pounding of his own heart.

And then, the moan of surrender she made when he clamped his arms around her waist and kissed her, hot and hard. Her breath shuddered out to mingle with his, feeding him. Her tongue teased the entrance of his mouth when he slanted his, demanding her attention, and the kiss grew liquid and dizzying as he wrapped his own around it. She tasted slick and sweet; he made himself at home in the velvety confines of her mouth, probing it and proclaiming himself master.

She embraced his wildness and gave her own, long hidden, full rein. He enveloped her, making ragged sounds of need as their bodies pressed closer, until they no longer felt like separate people. Ororo was Logan, and Logan was Ororo. In the flesh. In the spirit.

His fingers clenched at her back. Hers fisted in his hair and his collar.

She whimpered suddenly when he bit her lip. He was panting and practically quivering when he drew back.

“Shit!” he hissed, watching her probe the puffy, rosy flesh. “M’so sorry, ‘Ro. Did I hurt ya?”

“You just surprised me…ouch,” she complained through her laughter. Then she saw how pale his face was, and her brow wrinkled. “I’m okay, sweetie, see?” She leaned over and kissed him. “Good as new!” He exhaled, and she felt the tension leave him, but he still looked remorseful.

“I never…I didn’t mean it, darlin’,” he grumbled, once again releasing her. “Don’t know what came over me for a second.”

“Same thing that came over me,” Ororo reasoned, pleading with him. “I wanted to kiss you, Logan. If you think I was getting carried away, then I’m sorry. Here we are, you invited me out here! I don’t want to make you feel like this was _all_ I expected…”

“That’s just it. That’s how I feel, ‘Ro. Yer my guest. Ya don’t…after what happened that night, at the bank, ya don’t owe me anything.” His hand shook as he adjusted her scarf, gently tugging it open and draping it over her head instead, covering her chilly ears. “I ain’t gonna take advantage of ya if ya feel like yer obligated ta me.” The words were profane but tore out from his lips.

“That’s not it,” she argued, frustrated and searching for reasons why he was wrong, but it was harder than she wanted to admit to refute his logic. He busied himself with her muffler, crossing the long sash beneath her chin, wrapping it back around her neck, then back around to the front. He tucked the ends into her collar and palmed her smooth cheek. She turned her lips into his touch; even through his gloves, the contact scorched him. “That’s not my reason for coming out here, and you know that. And maybe this doesn’t need a reason.” She was stirred from her reverie of staring into his dark eyes by the light snowfall that drifted on the breeze. Sparse flakes landed in his hair and grizzled brows. She smiled as she kissed him and flicked the moisture away with her thumb.

They hiked back down the trail before the snow could fill their tracks. Logan shooed her inside as he rounded the back of the cabin to select several logs from the cord of firewood. He stamped his boots on the braided rug inside. Ororo was already in her stocking feet and fluffing her hair, combing her fingers through the tangles. She hugged herself.

“Brrrr.”

“City slicker,” he accused.

“I’ll live. Now build up that fire, buddy, get crackin’! I’m freezing my tookus.” He leered at her. She stuck out her tongue.

The next two hours found her at her laptop (after much sniping and nagging) while Logan worked on a tiny model ship. The silence between them was companionable; neither of them craved the mindlessness of television or Logan’s staticky radio. The most they heard through the interference was that a storm front was rolling in, promising to drop six inches.

_Mick wasn’t fond of chocolate, but he watched hungrily as she bit into the wafer; her eyes closed in ecstasy._

_“Mmmm. I needed that,” she sighed. “Don’t you ever just need something sweet?” She didn’t even notice that he’d stood until he was hovering above her. His broad body was outlined by the kitchette’s overhead light._

_“Yes. I do,” he husked, plucking the glass of milk from her hand and thunking it onto the table._

_“Mick!”_

_He swallowed her gasp as he bent down and kissed her. She moaned beneath the rough caress of his lips, then felt thrown off-balance as he released her._

_“Mick!” she repeated, touching her lips gingerly._

_“You had something. Right there. It’s gone now.”_

“Yer smilin’.”

“Mm-hmmm.”

“Ya writin’ somethin’ naughty?”

“Pfft…no!” she lied.

 

“Aw, c’mon, kiddo, lemme see!”

“No!” she yelped. “I can’t work with people looking over my shoulder.

“Yer not workin’ now,” he pointed out, looming over her. She felt his solid heat at her back.

“Am too!”

“Uh-uh.” He leaned in for a glimpse at the tiny screen, and to her horror, she saw him mouthing the words.

“DON’T! GAH! STOP!” She reached up to cover his eyes. “Quit it, Logan!”

“It’s gonna be a long night, darlin’, I need somethin’ ta read!”

“Tough!”

“Zoe likes chocolate? Where else does she like it?” he asked innocently.

“LOGAN!” She hunched over her laptop and hurriedly hit save before clapping it shut. They scuffled; it wasn’t pretty. Many tickles, half-hearted swats, biffs, lunges and “oof!’s” later, Ororo was lying across the couch, facedown with her body curled around the laptop. The two of them were panting and stifling guffaws. Logan zapped her in the side with his fingertip. She yelped in protest but tightened her grip around the laptop.

“Man, yer obsessed,” he huffed, marveling at her insistence.

“Look who’s talking,” she accused.

“I’m gonna see the book when it comes out.”

“The edited, pretty version after Ali’s proofreaders hack it to pieces,” she corrected him. He sighed and then stroked the long line of her back. Her body relaxed. “Truce?”

“I still don’t get to see it?” His voice promised retribution.

“Not now,” she allowed. His caress became long and slow; she nearly purred. Logan had a fleeting impression that Giblet was Ororo’s familiar as she set down the PC and stretched out onto the sofa cushions, arching her back. She sat up and made room for him; he sat and tucked one leg behind her, encouraging her to sprawl back against him and use him as a recliner. He tugged the fleece throw blanket from the back of the couch and covered them with it. They watched the fire crackle in the grate, and they basked in the sound of each other’s breathing.

 

~0~

“Don’tcha at least feel a lil’ better now, petit?” Remy took the casserole dish Ali finished rinsing and stacked it in the dishwasher. “She left ya de number at de cabin. Even de address, an’ she called when dey got dere t’let y’know she wuz all in one piece.”

“You know I hate it when you say it like that, Rem,” she shuddered. “I can’t think of her ‘all in one piece’ when the alternative keeps me up at night.” He set down the dish rag and hugged her, kissing her cheek. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Don’t try to distract me,” she complained.

“How ‘bout Remy takes his baby doll back t’bed an’ really distracts ya? Remy’ll get y’mind offa any an’ evry’tin’, chere.” His voice was low and thick with promise. A warm shiver traveled up Ali’s back as she imagined him looming over her in the dark, making love to her until she couldn’t think straight.

“Mmmmm…” Their kiss was interrupted by the trill of her phone. “H’lo?” She looked surprised. “Hi, Pietro! What’s new?” Her expression settled into one of caution. “Have I heard from Ororo? Sure, she just came over for dinner! Last night.”

“Tell ‘im y’busy,” Remy whispered urgently into her free ear as he snuggled against her back.

“She said she’ll be back in a few days. Uh-huh. Yup. A vacation…oh. Where?” Her voice was filled with confusion. “She left the Vineyard, and she’s staying with a friend at a cabin near this big, fresh water pond, she said it’s beautiful…” Remy prodded her. “Oh, ‘Tro, I’d better get going! It was good to head from you. ‘Bye!” Remy plucked the phone from her grasp and hung it up.

“Nuff already, petit, de dishes’re done!”

“Sheesh,” she complained, wrapping his arms around herself more tightly and giving him better access to nuzzle her neck.

 

~0~

With a friend. Pietro chucked the handset onto the couch and refilled his glass with red wine. Frustration choked him as he brooded in the dark.

~0~

“Venison,” she replied warily, eyeing the nondescript stew set before her.

“Yeah.” Logan set a plate of garlic bread on the table and turned off the stove. He’d stored the leftover stew in his deep freezer after his last expedition, knowing he’d crave it when the weather was cold enough.

“But…it’s deer.”

“Most venison is,” he replied, nonplussed.

“But…that’s like…eating Bambi!”

“Gads…it’s meat, kiddo! Ain’t any different from a drumstick or a pork chop.”

“Chickens scratch the ground. Pigs are big and sloppy. They aren’t cute. So you can eat them. Bambi’s cute, and he can talk, so he’s off limits.”

“Wasn’t below the legal limit when I bagged him,” Logan mused. She looked horrified. “What?” he pleaded innocently.

“I can’t eat this.”

“Ya gotta be starving, baby. G’wan, take a bite.” He broke off the crust of his hunk of bread and plowed it through the thick broth.

She sighed. The stew was hearty looking and full of what looked like potatoes and onions, and perhaps a stray lump of carrot…she gingerly spooned up some broth. 

“It ain’t that bad.” He was inhaling his, savoring the gamy flavor of the rich meat.

“Can I just have the bread?”

“Can’t appreciate good food,” he grumbled, but she looked grateful when he rounded the table and spooned the chunks of meat from her portion onto his own plate. He loaded her plate with another thick hunk of bread. “There ya go!” he declared.

“Thank the good Lord,” she breathed. “Poor little Bambi…”

“Be glad Thumper and Flower ain’t swimmin’ in the sauce with him.”

“Ugh! Nasty!” She flung a crust of bread at him. He bit heartily into his stew meat and rolled his eyes at how good it was.

“Got elk stew, too, from a buck me an’ Mac bagged this summer.” She turned green.

“He saves my life; now he’s trying to kill me.” She sipped her mug of instant cider, and they made short work of the food.

Before Logan could ask Ororo where she planned to sleep, she nodded off beside him on the couch halfway through _Law & Order_.

That made his decision slightly easier. He carried her back to the guest room, turned down the coverlet, and tucked her in. His body protested the presence of her warm, sweet-smelling skin and hair once he let her go.

Logan bundled himself back into his coat and headed out back for a smoke. All was quiet.

The beast inside him was at rest, content in the belief that nothing threatened its den, or its mate. The moon up above waxed toward its peak, nearly newborn. The night sky was littered with the shiny, inky clouds as the snow once again began to fall.


	12. The Better to See You With, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh.

Logan suffered more of Ororo’s sojourns to her laptop during the storm that hemmed them in for the next two days. Their plans to “rough it” were squelched, even though Logan’s truck came equipped with a camper shell, but the climes were too extreme.

They settled for ghost stories.

“Promise me it ain’t the one about the guy with a hook fer a hand.”

“Please! No. Urban legends suck. But on a night much like this, the locals told tales about wolf tracks leading away from a widow’s cottage on the edge of the woods.” The fireplace hosted crackling flames that cast flickering golden light over the walls. 

Ororo looked beautiful in the firelight, and Logan’s eyes seemed to hold some of that gold captive. They were mesmerized by each other but covered it with sarcasm.

“Kinda like the Big Bad Wolf comin’ ta Grandma’s house,” he muttered.

“Do ya wanna hear the story or not?” she clucked impatiently. She stabbed a marshmallow with the skewer and gave him a tart look. He held up his hands in surrender, but his grin was unapologetic.

“Lead on, MacDuff.”

“For a month, the village’s livestock was being poached a bit at a time, according to the locals. No one had much money, so theft was punishable by time in jail, even if it was just swiping a watermelon out of someone’s patch.”

“Livestock?”

“Uh-huh. No valuables. Nothing out of anyone’s house, in the beginning. They started finding chicken feathers and trails of blood.” Her smile was slightly wicked, and her voice took on the low, husky timbre of someone growing more involved with the story they told.

“Geez,” he muttered, but he was beginning to enjoy himself. The marshmallow burnt slightly; Logan carefully blew out the ridge of flame and nipped at the sticky sweet, scowling a moment when he burnt his upper lip. “Shit!”

“Here,” Ororo beckoned. Her eyes were dark pools of desire, and affection twisted her lips. She leaned across the plush throw rug and brushed her mouth over his, sucking off the glaze of marshmallow and cooling his scorched skin with her teasing breath. Arousal knotted his gut.

“Brat.”

“Better?”

“Almost.” His hand cupped her jaw before he kissed her more deeply, drinking in her flavors and heat. Her heartbeat was steady but strong, speeding up slightly as he groaned into her mouth. She stared at him dreamily and sighed.

“Chickens, eh?”

“Uh-huh. No one could figure it out. It wasn’t a fox, as near as they could tell. The tracks were all wrong. Too big, and…get this…they were spaced apart like something on two feet, not four.” He nearly choked, and Ororo leaned over and gave him several stiff whacks on the back.

“Yer…gonna kill me,” he rasped. Her chest shook with mirth.

“The villagers were baffled. Every morning, it was always the same. Missing animals, but they never found much by way of scraps. They were never just eaten and left behind; they were always carried off the property. And the trail always seemed to lead into the woods. They hunted through fox holes and ditches, and even checked some caves in the hills for bears, but there was no sign of anything that big living that close.

One day they finally found the remains of one of the animals, and it confused the crap out of them even more.”

“Do tell.” His tone was bland, but he enjoyed the sense of anticipation.

“The bones were picked clean. Not a typical kill where the belly’s just been torn out. They were finding bare bones.”

“Maybe the fox had a barbecue.”

“Nope. Raw blood, bare bones. And they were always scattered, like the prey was torn apart.” There was something wicked in the look she gave him. For only a moment, he was uneasy.

“After a while, whatever the creature was, it began feeling a little bold. Garbage cans were knocked over on people’s property. Gardens were uprooted like something had been digging in it. And people’s pets started showing up injured, or just plain disappearing.”

“Pets?”

“Dogs. Cats. One morning they found the remains of a poodle.”

“Eh. It was a poodle,” Logan shrugged, but he felt a strange sense of mourning over the death of a dog. And he didn’t even like pets, barring Ororo’s cat, but even then, only because Giblet was _Ororo’s_.

“After a while, they started noticing this weird pattern. It was always worse,” she murmured, making him move in closer, “during a full moon.”

“Weeeiird,” he grumbled. She leaned back on her elbows after setting down her empty skewer and settled closer to him. The flames seemed to hypnotize her.

Her heartbeat held him in thrall, coupled with her warm, spicy scent. He nuzzled her shoulder, kissing its crest through the soft waffle knit of her shirt. It was slate blue, complementing her eyes and the caramel glow of her skin. Her eyes flicked over him, settling on his mouth. She licked her lips as though remembering how they felt and tasted.

“The village’s sheriff imposed a curfew to keep people inside after nightfall. They balked, but everyone went inside and locked up their homes by dusk. It was like a ghost town. People stayed away from their windows but kept their ears to the ground for anything that sounded like something tearing through their stables, pens or henhouses. Every now and again, there would be a scuffle and sounds of pawing feet and these growls…” A low, guttural snarl escaped her chest as she playfully bared her perfect teeth at him, just as he’d been leaning in more closely. He snorted and tugged a lock of her hair.

“Thought ghost stories were s’posed ta be scary.”

“You’re not scared, Logan?”

“Nope.”

“What does scare you?” She laid on her side, her temple propped against her fist as she watched him. He adopted her posture and slumped comfortably, facing her and matching his breathing to hers.

_How he felt with her. Out of control. Desperate. The overpowering need that gripped him every time she walked into a room._ That scared him.

“Rush hour traffic. And my ex mother-in-law.” She tsked bitterly; he’d ruined the moment.

“Not everybody followed the curfew.”

“Every town’s got its rule breakers.”

“There was a young widow on the edge of town who headed out one night to fetch some firewood from the cord she had stacked by the shed. She had a huge German shepherd named Skip. She let the dog out before she bundled up and went to get the wood.

On her way back across the yard, she heard a scuffle and a yelp. She couldn’t see old Skip on the porch where she left him. She gets antsy and reaches for her husband’s rifle in the shed. It was dark out, and she was suddenly in the dark.

…her back porch light was off. She heard the creak of the floor boards on her porch and what sounded like rustling in the grass.

‘Skip. Here, boy…’” Ororo whispered, adapting the widow’s fearful demeanor and widening her eyes.

“The only light she had was the full moon and a few dying stars through the clouds. ‘Skip,’ she called out, looking for her old hound and holding onto that rifle so tightly her hands ached. ‘Here, boy! C’mere, boy!’”

“Num-nums. Walkies!” Logan heckled. She reached out and savagely twisted his nipple, effectively nerpling him. “GAH!”

“You’re mean.” He sighed. “Hmmph…”

“She cocked her rifle, and she heard this low growl. She heard another yelping cry from Skip before it was suddenly cut off. She cried out…and saw the silhouette of something big. Hoisting her dog up by the throat.

All she saw were teeth in the dark. Blazing yellow eyes. It wasn’t a bear. It wasn’t a fox.

…but it was still hungry.”

Logan knew the feeling. Lazily he trailed his fingertip up her elbow to her knuckles, then let it trace the contour of her cheek.

“She screamed and cocked her gun, backing up as fast as she could. She didn’t care that she was isolated or headed the wrong way. Her heart was pounding too fast to reach for the keys to her pickup. The thing dropped Skip, and she saw a raw, shiny patch where his throat had been. Her finger shook over the trigger. She aimed for the thing’s heart as it snarled and crouched.

There was a shot. Her nearest neighbors thought it was a backfiring car and shrugged it off. 

She hit it, and she didn’t stop to see if she hit it. All she did was run. Her legs carried her into the thicket. Branches slapped her and tangled in her hair. She stumbled over tree roots and heard rushing footsteps behind her. Closer. Closer,” Ororo urged, her voice growing lower. “She stumbled and twisted her ankle…”

“Gads. What is it about women runnin’ around in the woods and fallin’ down?” he complained. “Hey!” he barked as she reached out and poked his armpit. “Quit it!” She grinned and took thorough umbrage.

“Who’s falling down now, Logan? Huh? Huh!” Poke. Poke. Jab. Poke. Tickle. Nerple. He collapsed in rusty laughter as he guarded his pits and neck from her taunting hands. He lost his balance and support as his arm buckled beneath him.

“Finish…yer…story!” he rasped as they struggled. She loomed over him, suddenly covering him for better access to his weak spots. No holds barred. No matter where he guarded himself, she’d zap him somewhere else, too quickly for him to retaliate.

“Are you gonna behave and be a good boy?” she purred.

He couldn’t lie. “No.” 

That earned him another barrage of tickling.

“Nuff! Nuff! UNCLE!” he groaned. “Aw, c’mon, ‘Ro! Please, pretty please, sssstop!” Her giggles mingled with his…she had him _giggling,_ fer cryin’ out loud. He felt so unmanned…

And excited. Her breasts were mashed against his chest. Gradually her laughter died, and her body relaxed until her abdomen was flush against his. She kept his wrists loosely pinned over his head and nuzzled the tip of his blunt nose.

“So what happened?” he murmured, letting his lips graze hers.

“No one knows,” she concluded, somewhat conveniently, in his opinion, since her pelvis rippled in one smooth, experimental movement that fitted them together at every dip and hollow.

“Did she hit it?”

“They found her rifle missing two rounds,” she offered. “More bloody tracks. But this time they were made by two sets of prints, big enough to be a man’s.” She released his wrists and ran her palms down the slopes of his quadriceps to his rising and falling pecs. Her touch ignited him, making his nerve endings tingle. He felt goosebumps cover him and make his skin feel too tight in response to her sweet breath steaming his lips

“No feathers?”

“What do you think?”

“Ya wanna know what I think?” he huffed in disbelief. _Holy **shit**._

He growled – growled – low in his throat and clamped her upper arms in an implacable grip before he mauled her mouth. He leaned up and dominated that sexy mouth, driven with the need to make her ache and burn for him just as much as he did for her. Her silky, lush hair tickled him face and covered his hands; he fisted it back from her face and dragged his mouth along the crest of her cheek. Her body shuddered against him when he nipped her earlobe before lapping the whorls. He speared the canal with the very tip of his tongue, suggesting more meaningful thrusting and wetness.

Her heartbeat thundered against him and rocked his senses.

“ _Logan!_ ” Her world was upended as she was rolled to her back.

He loomed over her, dark and dangerous. His breathing was heavy, expanding and contracting his broad and solid chest like a bellows. He looked like a hungry beast. 

Her hips bucked against him with yearning.

“Ro,” he growled. He waited. For permission. For submission.

She licked her lips, nodded, and clutched handfuls of his hair to drag him into her kiss.

He wanted to take his time. He’d dreamt of this when he slept at all. She belonged tangled in his sheets.

Yet Logan _craved her._

His hands were swift, and his kiss wasn’t gentle. He nipped her, suckling her bruised lips and lapping greedily at her neck. She squirmed and moaned, rasping out his name until it became an incoherent string of syllables. He felt _that_ good, that _right_. His body pinned her and pressed her more deeply into the thick sherpa rug. They struggled wantonly against each other, unable to give or take enough.

His palms framed her face. He kissed her long and deep, exploring her mouth. She came up for breath long enough to lean her lips into his touch. She nipped the tip of his finger once, then drew it into her mouth. His pupils dilated and she felt him harden against her pubis, grinding against her for relief. She wouldn’t let him go, sucking on him like she couldn’t get enough of the taste of him. He followed suit, obeying the dictates of her mouth, sliding his finger in and out of her wetness, then adding a second finger. The sight of that rosy, swollen mouth engulfing him…

“Fuck,” he hissed. She was killing him by degrees. He backed away only for as long as it took him to relieve himself of his shirt. His skin was feverishly hot and silky beneath her hands, and she combed her fingers through the fine layer of dark curls over his chest. She recaptured his fingers, lapping at them with teasing licks.

“Yer gonna drive me crazy,” he admitted roughly. Logan reached down and jerked the hem of her shirt up over her smooth belly, narrow and gracefully sculpted ribs, and the supple hills of her breasts. Impatiently he dragged the edge of her bra cup down until the plump, stiff aureole popped free. She moaned around his fingers; Logan removed them from her liquid heat and stroked and tugged at her nipple, lubricating it with her own wetness.

“Ahhhh! _Please._ ” Her voice shuddered out of her and stopped completely, hitching in her chest as he took the stimulated, tingling morsel into his mouth. He grunted around it, flattening his tongue against it again and again, swirling around its tip. She felt each pull of his lips between her legs, which had sinuously wrapped themselves around his hips. She studied his face as he bent to the task, watching sucked-in cheeks and his eyes that were closed in rapture. Ororo needed more, and she longed to give him more.

He slowed down only long enough to prime her other nipple for his consumption, feathering his thumb over it through the satin before peeling down that cup, too. The blue waffle knit shirt was bunched beneath her chin, and her eyes were clenched shut as he worked on her. He was _insatiable._

“Damn it, darlin’, look how yer makin’ me lose control!” he moaned into her flesh. His voice was ragged and almost sounded helpless. Her fingers clambered up his arms and kneaded his shoulders. Her body shook with sheer need. His kisses traced the undercurves of her breasts and trailed over her ribs. Logan’s tongue greedily spiraled around the divot of her belly button and made her cry out and jerk – no doubt taking umbrage for her prior attack of his tickle spots. Her back arched as she offered herself up to him one desperate inch at a time. As he descended the length of her body, he dragged off the offending thick sweats hiding the rest of her glorious body from him.

His first taste of musk awoke the Beast. Logan shuddered with hunger and struggled to control himself, but her scent provoked him, beckoning to him to slake his thirst.

His eyes glowed golden before he closed them in surrender. His voice vibrated through her flesh as he made love to her with his mouth. She bucked into the press of his teeth, gently rasping against her clit as he suckled it. The sounds he made mingled with the crackling flames in the grate. Ororo flung her head back, over and over and caught sight of her struggling shadow falling across the wall. Sensations built in her womb as he focused himself on her. 

_She was ready for him. Ready to mate._ The Beast contemplated the rise and fall of her breasts as he feasted on her, stroking the lissome length of her thighs. Ororo was perfectly formed, all over, every inch a desirable woman. His tongue lapped up her juices and parted the seam of her lips, thrusting inside. Idly his thumb rubbed her pearl, making it hot and swollen. Her cries rose in volume, whether it was his name, a plea or a prayer, he couldn’t tell, except that it was a signal that she was ready to submit.

_Soooooo gooooooooood…_ The Beast nearly purred, then snarled in defiance as Logan pulled his mouth away, breathing over her tingling flesh.

“Show me how much ya want it,” he growled hoarsely, pushing his finger inside. Her walls contracted around him and her hands twisted in her own hair. He worked up a steady rhythm. “Tell me, darlin’!”

“Please! Please, Logan, oh, please!” she begged. He deftly twisted his hand and let his fingers plunge inside, two of them, mimicking his actions in her mouth. That lush, sweet mouth… He laid himself out beside her and kissed her long and hard. She only broke the kiss to cry out as he slipped his fingers in and out, priming her for a coupling that promised to be earth-shaking.

“Tell me ya want me,” he insisted. After Carol’s betrayal, he needed her to make him believe it.

“I want you. Oh, Logan, I want you.”

“Tell me how ya want me. Tell me how much ya want me.” Another ruthlessly deep plunge and twist. His hand grew slick and creamy. When she didn’t answer him quickly enough, he removed his hand. Her eyes flew open, beseechingly to put it back where it belonged, but his eyes bore into hers as he lapped her flavors from his fingers with deliberate slowness. His own eyes drifted shut with the pleasure of her taste. When he opened them, they were dark with predatory intent. She shivered.

“Want you. Want you so bad. Hard. More,” she spelled out, even though thought went by way of all good things when he took her clothes off. “Deep inside me.” She reached for him, but he feinted out of her reach.

Her feet had other ideas. They hooked themselves around his legs and twined around them to hold him close.

“I want you all night. I want you right now.” Her feet stroked his calf and slowly, roughly began to drag his thin flannel pajama pants down from his body.

He enveloped her, covering her body and sliding hotly over it with his. The rasp of his crisp hair made her tingle. Her lips belonged to him. He exulted in it, chanted it like a mantra in his mind as he kissed her breathless. He stilled her bucking hips only long enough to sheathe himself inside. She was tight, hot, wet and yielding, pulsing around his dick. All reason left him. He tipped back his head and closed his eyes.

“Darlin’…aw, God help me! Feel…so…damn good,” he cried, punctuating each word with a shunt of his hips.

He filled her completely; she nearly sobbed at the deep, sweet stretch and burn of his presence inside her. Pleasure built with each thrust. Her instinct was to rise up and meet him, but he would have none of it. 

“Hands up. Over yer head,” he grunted. Through her fog of need she did as she was told while he held her hips still.

He pounded into her, sending ripples through her womb. A faint sheen of sweat coated their bodies as they made love, partaking of a mating in every sense of the word.

Ororo was his. _His._ Now, and forever more…

“Yer mine, darlin’!”

“I’m yours! Oh, God, Logan, I’m yours! Please!” Her nipples were impossibly stiff pebbles. Her skin was flushed and glowing in the firelight, and her fall of blazing white hair was tousled as she turned her face into it, thrashing back and forth.

Her body possessed him. The Beast howled, reverberating through his consciousness and making him pump and thrust even faster.

His climax surged through him. Every muscle locked up and went taut. His hips and lower spine spasmed in wave after wave of release. She felt the hot spill of his seed, overflowing and saturating her. When he peered down into her face through his grimace of relief and fulfillment, he saw that she was already far gone, rapt with pleasure. Then, and only then, did he allow her to free her hands and embrace him. They rocked together in sync. They were one voice crying out, one thundering heartbeat.

They clung to each other in the dark.

Ororo luxuriated beneath him. The sherpa rug felt decadently thick at her back, and the weight of Logan’s hot, firm body relaxing in repose against her was just as heady and addictive. Their limbs twined together as he rested his head just below her collarbones, inhaling her scent. She stroked him languorously, and he sighed in approval, sated.

 

**Later that night:**

Logan didn’t remember much about how they’d arrive in his bed. Ororo slumbered beside him, dressed once again in her waffle thermal and bikini briefs, but the sweats lay in a heap along with his pants. Absently Logan stroked the back of her hand that rested on his chest. Her breathing was deep and slow. He inhaled the scent of her hair and nuzzled her, kissing the bridge of her nose.

How did he feel so strongly about her, so soon?

Memories of each time they’d met ran through his mind like a choppy motion picture. He picked through each frame slowly, objectively, savoring his favorite parts. _Ice cream in winter._

Yet it frightened him. Intervening when she was attacked changed the dynamic. When he’d met Carol, they followed the usual rules. They called. They chatted. They went on safe dates to safe places and had safe conversations for several weeks before they moved on to keeping a toothbrush in each other’s bathrooms. They courted “in the usual way.” Attraction and friendship turned to love.

_Obsession._ It gripped him from the moment Ororo opened her tortured eyes while she lay on the asphalt. They’d shared the worst moment in either of their lives the first time they met. Logan would never be the same. He’d never obsessed over Carol. Never had this constant, abiding need to protect her like he felt for ‘Ro. Was it love at first sight? No. Second sight? If it meant that the rest of the world faded and blurred into the background while he saw, heard and felt only her, then yes.

But that fateful night, Ororo was his angel with clipped wings.

Ororo’s body blanketed him, and she sighed in her sleep. Her fingers drifted up to his face for a moment; he froze as they grazed, then traced the bumpy scar under his chin, trailing a jagged line of puckered, shiny skin down his neck.

Both of them, attacked in the middle of the night. Both survivors, he mused. Topaz, predator’s eyes glowed in the dark whenever he dreamed.

The moon rose, emerging from the misty black clouds. Pearly white, voluptuous, pure; a sight meant for lovers.

“No,” he whispered. “Aw, God, no!”


	13. Thrall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big reveal. Everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. IMPORTANT NOTE.
> 
> I am copying this over from the RoLo Realm. It's an older story, and I have been flying by the seat of my pants writing for the past several years. But one oversight that I want to fix when I post it here is the nonconsensual sex scene that happens in this chapter. I am leaving it in, but I never warned for it in the tags when I originally uploaded this here, and I SHOULD have, but I forgot about that scene. And I realize it could be triggering. So, right about the time that you get to the part in the story where Lorna chucks a potted plant at Pietro (I'm giving a spoiler, sorry, but it had to be done), that is a good point to skip a big chunk, until you see the next mention of Ororo and Logan in the woods.

“Giblet, get down,” Ali scolded, chasing Ororo’s pride and joy off the coffee table. The cat seemed to huff at her as she instead leapt up onto the couch, tucked her forepaws under her chest, and purred like a motor. “Gads, you’re a spoiled brat.”

“Don’t let ‘Roro hear ya say that, petit,” Remy muttered. He cruised by the couch and chucked the cat under the chin, giving her a hearty scratch. Giblet purred even louder, going so far as to lean her whole head into the caress, giving Remy the cat equivalent of a sleepy bedroom smile. Then she rolled and showed him her fluffy, plush belly.

“Oh, now I’ve seen it all! Remy, you’ve seduced Ororo’s cat!”

“What?” he inquired innocently. As soon as he straightened up from the couch, the cat immediately lunged back on her haunches and leapt up to the head of the cushion, rising up on her hind legs. She pawed at him, craving more attention. Just to annoy Ali even more, he bent down and nuzzled the cat’s nose. Giblet swiped the corner of her mouth against his. Her purr was choppy, almost a throaty meow.

“Kisses, now. That’s just sick. Pervert,” Ali accused.

“Green-eyed monster, chere.”

“Cat won’t even wanna go home when Ororo gets back…”

“Don’t start frettin’ again, chere. She’s fine.”

“I know.” He was already running in full “reassure Alison” mode, so he almost didn’t catch her reply.

“She told us where she was gonna…huh?” Surely, Remy mused, she didn’t just agree with him that Ororo was fine. Had she?

“I know that.”

“Kept Remy up all night worryin’ ‘bout her new friend.”

“That was then.” Ali beckoned to the kitty. “C’mere, girl.” The cat narrowed her eyes and looked bored, preferring Remy’s stroking instead. She flicked her tail briefly before settling back down on the cushion, savoring it as Remy gave her back one more scratch in just the right spot. “Giblet, you’re such a little shit.”

“So why’d y’change ya mind ‘bout Logan?”

“She’s my best friend. If she cares about him, which is still kind of a stretch, then I can’t just storm in and kidnap her from him. But I just…I don’t know. I got this weird vibe from him. Not bad weird. Just…I can’t explain it.”

“Put it in writin’, den, petit. Yer good at written words,” he reminded her slyly. Ali rolled her eyes again.

“There’s something about him that just puts you at ease. Just like…you know he’s capable. Reliable. Someone you’d want in your corner.”

What Ali really wanted to tell him, even if she couldn’t find the words, was that Ororo changed in Logan’s presence. Glowed. She _glowed._ They were connected. Something in the way both of them moved, gestured and spoke when they were together was just…they completed each other.

“I just know she’s safe with him,” Ali declared. Remy grinned and shook his head.

 

~0~

His hand shook as he gently peeled Ororo’s hand from his body, shouldering his way out from beneath her sweet-smelling softness. She never felt the swift change in his heartbeat, from placid to thundering as he rolled out of bed. The springs bounced as he bolted from the bedroom.

Logan staggered on shaking legs into the kitchen. Every detail in his dark house was razor sharp, but everything around him seemed to shift and roll. The walls of the spacious room seemed to close in on him. Mock him.

He was trapped. Caged. Panic set in and made his pulse throb, in his neck, in his temple. Logan’s flesh was on fire, itching, crawling… _changing._

“No!” he whispered. “Please, God, no! Beggin’ you…” His prayers were raspy and weak. Then the pain came, again. Logan fought the need to cry out, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. It was tangy and coppery; reflexively he licked that wound. His eyes shone with amber fire, and his pupils dilated, black, fathomless and soulless. 

Logan tripped over the small kitchen mat in front of the refrigerator as he searched for something to drink. He burned with thirst. His fingers scrabbled for the door handle, but they trembled. His fingernails clicked and scraped against the cool chrome.

“Don’t,” he pleaded helplessly, holding out his hand in the dim light as he finally opened the door. Long, ebon claws extended from his fingertips. He watched in horror as dark bristles of coarse hair erupted through his skin faster than he could blink. He grew dizzy, and the walls continued to close in on him. He lurched for the orange juice. The glass bottle felt slippery in his hand. He pried off the metal cap and tipped back his head, chugging down long gulps. The cool liquid gave him momentary relief…

His stomach churned in revolt. The substance was foreign and unwelcome in his body. He fought the violent urge to spew it back up.

“Ah, God!” he moaned. He shook his head to clear it, then sneezed. It was a huffy, robust sound. His nose felt cold and damp. Logan’s lips seemed to shrink back from his teeth, but they finally stopped chattering. The chills that wracked him as soon as he entered the kitchen subsided, but he fought the sensory overload of the sounds around him. The ticking of the clock. His drippy faucet that he still hadn’t fixed; all it needed was a new washer, and then it was good as new. A squirrel skittering into his oak tree. An icicle breaking off from his roof.

He felt himself reel and spin.

_Mmmmnnnghhhh…_ Ororo stirred awake and ran her hand over the cooling stretch of bed sheet, searching for Logan’s solid warmth.

She heard a series of thuds and bumps, seeming to come from the kitchen. “Logan? Sweetie?” She rubbed the crusty sleep from her eyes and sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair. She gave her limbs a hearty scratch and stood, shoving her feet into her fleece slippers.

“What’s the matter, Logan? Are you all right? I heard you get up.” Her voice was hoarse and soft, filled with concern.

_NO!_ The orange juice jug slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a deafening crash.

“Oh, SHIT!” Ororo yelped, stunned by the sudden clatter, and she backed herself against the wall for a moment. It scared the crap out of her, and she headed toward the kitchen with more concern than before. “Honey, are you all right? What happened, did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” he grimaced. His voice was a thick slur issuing from his lips. “Nnooooo,” he began again, “can’t…no! ‘Ro! ‘RO!”

“Do you need me to…” Her words evaporated on her lips as she caught sight of him, illuminated by the moonlight. Her hands flew up to her mouth, and she shook her head in denial.

“Ro,” he huffed. The Beast bristled defiantly and stood its ground.

_He was the Beast._

“Oh, no, please, NO!” she blurted. The creature before her lurched forward a step, nostrils flaring from its twitching muzzle.

“Ro,” it seemed to bark. Her cry was startled, and he heard her heart race, pounding its way out of her chest.

The creature stood nearly as tall as she did. Its body was broad as a tree trunk and covered in a coarse, thick coat of hair. Icy gooseflesh broke out over her body, and she felt slightly sick.

The beast sensed her revulsion and growled at her weakness. She backed up when her legs finally decided to obey her demands. She slipped and slid on the shards of broken glass. Time seemed to stand still as he crouched toward her, lowering his body and pawing the tile floor. He bared his teeth at her and looked ready to pounce!

She squeezed her eyes shut as he growled again. A scream tore itself from her lips. _This couldn’t he happening. She was just asleep in Logan’s arms._ She wasn’t here, out in the middle of nowhere, held in thrall by a beast she could never dream up, even from her writer’s fertile imagination. She lingered just inches from the gaping maw of a _wolf._ Bony ridges of teeth were revealed as it continued to slaver and glare at her, growling a low, rhythmic hum.

Its breath painted her cheek, steamy and damp. She trembled and drew in short bursts of breath, then stopped breathing altogether, wondering if her last ditch effort should be to play dead, or to run like hell…

“Don’t,” she whimpered, “please, don’t! Don’t hurt me!”

That’s when he felt it. _Helplessness._ Her scent was saturated in it. Fear. Revulsion. Disbelief. Anguish. Caused by… _him._

She felt him snuffling at her. That cold, flaring nose seemed to move over her, drifting and exploring her skin, her hair. He poked his nose against the crest of her shoulder and she screamed again, startling him. He lunged back and growled a low warning, then barked.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, hot and useless. Her bladder was about to release any moment, and a tiny voice inside her shrieked that she wouldn’t go out with wet pants.

_Logan._ Where was he? Had the creature attacked him? She ventured a glance, still avoiding the creature’s gaze, and let her eyes flit around the kitchen.

Blood. Not much, but droplets spattered the floor, mingling with the glass shards and staining them so they resembled rubies. She wasn’t bleeding, so what –

She noticed blood dripping from the beast’s legs. Hind legs. He had the inverted knee joints of a dog, even though his calves were still sturdy and thickly muscled. Leaping legs that could chase her for miles and take her down. Hunter’s legs. As though he resented her gaze as too forward, he growled again. She closed her eyes once more.

_No. ‘Ro. I’m sorry._ She was cowering and sobbing to him, and he heard his name whispered from her lips.

“Please. Logan! Please…tell me you didn’t h-hurt Logan. Oh, Logan!” she cried. Her back still hugged the wall, and her unsheltered rump was chilled by the cold tile.

“Rrrrrr-oooooooo,” he growled, hunkering closer. The tip of his claw ran itself down the length of her slender calf. She sat stock still, but she still sobbed. He didn’t draw blood.

“Ro,” he huffed, still testing her name. One large, pawlike hand reached out and wrapped around her wrist, jerking her up to him for closer inspection. She screamed again, unable to appreciate that he wasn’t hurting her.

More of that unsettling sniffing. She grew more confused as the beast lowered her hand to its chest. Slowly, gently, he uncurled her fingers and flattened her palm against its furry chest.

“What, w-what are you doing?” she stammered, finally opening her eyes. His heart thudded beneath her hand. The pulse resonated through her, forcing hers to adopt the same pace. Her fingers twitched, and she didn’t stop them from gently curling in the sleek layers of hair.

Its face was fearsome, certainly, but not hideous. Its bone structure was an unearthly hybrid of man and beast. _Man,_ and beast. Broad cheekbones, not the thick chops of a wolf. A short muzzle. Thick ridges above its eyes, not the sloped forehead of a lupine beast; they resembled eyebrows.

Her fingers twitched within his again, and she felt something small and hard against her hand that dug into her flesh. Moonlight picked out a small gold band that constricted around his thick finger. _A ring._

The hell?”

“Rrrrrrrrr…” he rumbled slowly. He seemed to be struggling and shaking his head back and forth on its thick, bowed neck. There was something desperate gleaming in his feral yellow eyes. “Rrrrllllllllll-lllll-ooooooo…”

“Please,” she whispered, encouraging it. Him.

“Loooooooooooo…” he continued, fighting with the sound and glaring at her to help him, to hear him. 

She cocked her head to the side, drawing his attention to her submissive stance, and her other hand crept up ever so slowly, allowing him to see the movement. When he drifted up to within inches of his face, his muzzled twitched, and he stiffened his grip on her wrist. “It’s okay,” she assured him, even though from where she sat, it was no such thing.

_I won’t hurt you._ He felt the sentiment from her as though she had spoken the words. “It’s okay,” she repeated. She watched disbelieving as he bowed his head and nudged her waiting hand with his nose.

_Touch me,_ his eyes implored. She grazed his cheek with her fingertips. The hair there was finer and less dense, allowing surprisingly fair flesh to peek through.

A droplet of awareness struck the surface of her mind, creating broad ripples the longer she studied him. She swallowed roughly and saw him, really _saw him._

“Looooohg…nnnnnnn,” he confirmed.

“Logan!” she cried, and another tear slipped free from her eye, joining the drying tracks on her cheek.

“Ro,” he grunted as he leaned his cheek into her palm. His tongue made a faint lapping noise as it darted out to taste her wrist. His breath was hot, but it didn’t make her cringe like it had when he backed her into the corner before. She couldn’t ignore the change in his body. His bulk was still massive and warped into this beast’s, but there were signs of the man inside shining in its eyes. Relief washed over her that this beast hadn’t harmed or devoured Logan.

Except…he _was_ Logan.

“Holy shit,” she murmured. He whined in his throat in agreement.

 

~0~

Pietro sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. His head felt murky with fatigue and the spotty sleep that never deepened enough for him to dream.

The other side of the bed was empty. Lorna’s scent was nearly gone from the pillows. She hadn’t lain with him since the night they both were escorted out of AlphLight’s front door. Pietro had marched woodenly outside, clad in his peacoat as the winter winds battered him and ruffled his silver waves. His belongings were tucked into a cardboard box. He cared nothing for the small, tender potted fern that once graced his desk, unconcerned that the weather might harm it.

 

~0~

Lorna tried to follow him, barely dodging an ice slick as she tottered on her spindly high heels.

“’Tro!” she called. “Please! Stop! Listen to me, ‘Tro!” He was deaf to her pleas.

She was weak. Weak and helpless, and it burned him. Nauseated him, that he once found her desirable, and that she’d taken her down with him.

“I’m not in the mood, Lorna, and I think you know why.” His voice was dry and crisp. 

“Pietro, wait,” she panted, finally catching up to him as they entered the parking garage. She was breathless from trying to keep up with his long strides. Pietro marched along, tight-lipped and sober. His silver eyes were miles away, and he white-knuckled the box.

“I’m going home,” he announced simply. “Good night, Lorna.”

“PIETRO, will you just wait?? Talk to me! You can’t believe what they said in there!”

“The part where they gave us the bum’s rush and threw us out into the street? Oh, I believe that pretty easily.”

“You know what I’m talking about. I never stole intellectual property –“

“It’s over, Lorna. Don’t make excuses to me, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Are you kidding?” She stopped trying to catch up to him and settled for raising her voice. “I helped you get where you are! I didn’t even take the referral credit bonus for letting you know about that opening!”

“It wasn’t even an opening until I came along. You forget yourself. Don’t twist this around to absolve yourself in what happened,” he tossed over his shoulder without looking back. Accepting accountability wasn’t in Pietro’s lexicon.

“I can’t fucking BELIEVE you!” she shrieked. Pietro ducked when he felt as well as heard a whistling sound behind him, just shy of his shoulder. 

A small geranium in a terra cotta pot crashed just shy of hitting his Stacy Adams shoes. He spun on her; his face was dark and stony.

“How dare you,” he grated through his teeth, then roared, “you dare, after what happened today, you FUCKING BITCH!” The rest of his belongings were abandoned, tossed to the ground with a thump. Myriad papers, pens and knick-knacks scattered across the concrete. “This is YOUR FAULT! You were too damned sloppy and careless! No one had to KNOW! Nobody had to fucking know! We could have had it all,” Pietro accused. A fleck of spittle flew off his lower lip. Lorna quavered and winced with each shouted word, and she edged away from him when she saw the bulging whites of his eyes. 

His hands were clamped around her upper arms, and she sobbed “Don’t do this! I-I’m warning you, Pietro…” The parking garage was nearly empty, and the booth’s attendant was over a hundred yards away on the other side of the gate.

“Warning me about what, Lorna? Huh?” he shrugged. His face was a parody of calm as he shook her with a harsh jolt. Her slender hands were ineffective as a barrier when he was right up in her face. He released her arm only long enough to practically jab his finger into her teeth. “You’ve already fucked up my life! Call the guard! There’s nothing else you can do to me to make this day any worse!”

“Send my things over when you get home,” she hissed, still struggling to get free until he relieved her of the chore. He shoved her, nearly tripping her as she stumbled on her heels. The flap of her plum-colored trench coat flapped in the breeze. Unshed tears lingered in her blue eyes, and her jaw was set.

“Fuck yourself. Come and get them,” he muttered. He turned his back on her against better judgment. He didn’t know if she had any other potted plants or something sturdier in her arsenal to hit him with. Not that he cared. He could put the fear of God – and him – into her before the guard could even arrive.

Rage throttled him as he climbed into his battleship-gray Benz and smoothly steered it through the lot. His features were eerily calm. To the casual observer, he was a young, well-to-do bachelor retiring from a hard day’s work to have a leisurely dinner at The Dome.

When he finally returned home with a bottle of red wine, Lorna was waiting at his front door.

“It’s about time,” she sneered. “I waited for you to get here so I can get my things. Nice of you to finally show up.” Her mouth was mulish, and she never looked more unattractive to him, despite the effort she took with her appearance. She wore snug jeans and a forest green cable-knit sweater beneath her heavy, black leather coat that was belted at the waist. Her tear-tracked cheeks were gone; she wore the kind of simple, tasteful makeup he admired on her, and her hair was gently pulled back with a clip.

He shrugged for the second time that night, infuriating her. He tossed his keys up in the air and caught them several times on his way to the front door, never breaking his rhythm.

“You want to come inside, then hurry up and come inside,” he sniffed. He took up as much physical space as he could, nudging her out of the way on purpose as he shouldered his way toward the front door. She tsked in disgust.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

“Then get out of the way, unless it’s too hard?”

“You’re a bastard. I just want my stuff.”

“Don’t take any of mine, bitch!” he sneered.

“I don’t want anything from you anymore, Pietro.” No more pet names. Her voice was thoroughly irritated. She peered around his apartment as she usually did, staring at its Spartan neatness. Everything had a brand name or expensive label. She knew nothing of hers was in the living room, so she headed straight to the bedroom without unfastening her coat.

He watched the proud, stiff line of her back as she retreated from him. Pietro set down the bottle of wine and took off his own coat, uncharacteristically tossing it on the couch.

He lingered in the doorframe, watching her with great interest. She didn’t turn at the sound of his shoes clacking against the hardwood floor.

“You shouldn’t be acting like an asshole to me, you know it, and I won’t stand for it anymore.” She yanked open the top drawer and extracted the two lace-trimmed bras she kept there “just in case.” She sifted through an ornate silver accessory tray on his bureau and found a fine gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant he gave her. He shoved himself out of the doorway and approached quickly.

“Don’t. You’re not keeping that.”

“Why? Plan to give you’re next girlfriend used jewelry?”

“There’s no such thing as used jewelry, only used women,” he countered.

“Ohhhhhh, there you go!” she barked, throwing up her hands. She didn’t let go of the pendant. “It’s mine. You gave it to me as a gift.”

“You aren’t taking anything from me unless I say so,” he purred. Lorna was medium height and had a slender, delicate build.

“I’m taking back what’s mine,” she informed him, but her voice lost some of its confidence as he closed in on her.

“Don’t be so sure, baby.” His tone was mocking, and the use of his usual pet name made her shiver uncomfortably, despite the warmth of the room.

“Fine!” She threw the necklace across the floor. “Take it! Get away from me!” She lost interest in her belongings except for her underwear, which she folded and tucked into her jacket pocket.

“Pick. That. Up.”

“Go to hell.”

“You didn’t hear me.”

Before she could skirt around him, he shoved her squarely back against the bureau, so hard her teeth rattled and she bit her tongue.

“Aaagh! ASSHOLE!” she shrieked.

“You came over here, into MY place and you’ll do as I SAY, Lorna!” 

“Why are you doing this to me? Don’t you think this affects me, too? I almost threw up in that board room when they canned me! Don’t you think I’m petrified? Do you think I like them investigating my life? How will it look to a company when they hear how I lost my job?” Her lip quivered. This time, she allowed the tears to fall, to sway him.

He studied her too intently, for one long, tense moment. The gleam in his eye returned and made her uneasy.

He shoved himself forward, leaning forward on the balls of his feet and pinning her with his torso. “TRO! LET ME GO!”

“You don’t want me to,” he argued. “That’s not why you came, Lorna, admit it.”

“I MEAN IT!”

“You never mean it. You want it, because you’re my little whore, Lorna. You sleep your way to the top!”

“FUCK YOU!” she spat. “Look who’s talking,” she crowed humorlessly as she smacked him in the chest. “Get your hands off of me.”

“When I’m good and ready.” His hands handled her roughly, clawing at her belt.

“NO!” she cried. Rage colored her face crimson.

In a flash, she was attractive to him again. Enraged. Helpless. Defiant. He was flushed and tingling with a sense of power.

“I know what you really want, Lorna! Don’t lie to me, I know why you came here!” His handsome features were twisted into a hideous leer. His hot breath burned her and made her skin crawl. “One for the road?”

“You can’t,” she insisted weakly as they continued to struggle.

He was less amused now. “Shut up!” _Whap!_ Her head reeled as pain exploded across her jaw. Cold fear rose up in her chest as he dragged and shoved her toward the immaculate bed dressed in rich, sage green linens. The color of money.

She screamed as he yanked off her boot while she tried to kick him. Her hamstrings stung as he nearly pulled the leg from its socket in his zeal, determined to dominate her.

“No,” she cried, chanting it as he shucked her coat, flipping her onto her stomach. Cool air bathed her legs as her jeans were peeled from her body and thrown in a heap.

_This can’t be happening!_ His face was hard and driven; everything about him was stiff and unrelenting. He loomed over her like Goliath.

“Let me out of here,” she intoned. Rage and terror mingled in her eyes.

“Not until I throw you out. And not til I’m finished,” he mused. He roughly cupped her face, squeezing it til her cheeks swelled below her eyes. “You liked it when I made you beg. ‘Oh, God, ‘Tro, please, please!’” he mimicked in a falsetto.

He shoved her by the face back against the mattress. She made one last ditch attempt to rise, to fight and was struck again for her efforts. 

“Whose fault is it now?” he muttered as he flipped her back onto her belly, pried her thighs apart and breached her. His fist was tangled in her green waves of hair as he rutted and slammed into her.

_There. There. There. Take it. Just shut up and take it…_ Her sobs, muffled by the comforter, only made him pound into her harder, faster. 

“Whose fault is it now?” he repeated hollowly.

 

~0~

“Logan,” Ororo repeated. “Come back to me.” His eyes watched her in wonder. She wasn’t thoroughly calm, her heartbeat told him what he needed to know.

How long would he stay like this?

The crouching position was beginning to cramp her legs. She rose.

Logan growled in protest. _She’s leaving!_

“Shhhh,” she murmured. “Hush, it’s all right, Logan, don’t worry.” He shook off the thrall they shared and leapt to his feet. He was nimble despite his bulk. Then she noticed how gingerly he moved.

“You’re bleeding. Oh, sweetie, you’re bleeding!” Rivulets of crimson trickled through his fur, matting it in sticky patches. He made the lupine equivalent of a grunt. She shook her head in defeat. “Just like a man. Stay,” she commanded as she backed her way to the door.

“Rrrrrrrrr! Rrrro! No,” he rumbled petulantly.

“I’ll be a moment,” she promised, but she froze as his whole body went on alert.

_Someone’s outside._

Logan’s awareness of his home broadened to the perimeter heaving out roughly one hundred yards. His snout creased and he bared his teeth. A growl of warning escaped him, low and guttural, making her hair stand on end.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Ororo cringed as she leaned against the wall.

_Human. Male._ His eyes narrowed. _Rival._

The Beast licked its chops, and Logan once more fell under its spell.

_Enemy!_

Logan tipped back his head and emitted a bloodcurdling howl, nearly deafening her.

“Logan! LOGAN!” Fury wracked him and he snarled at her, making it impossible to guess intent. She thought he trusted her.

He continued to growl, weaving and circling her. “What’s wrong with you?” 

_Protect what’s yours._

He detected footsteps cracking through the leaves and crusty snow. He smelled nicotine, stale coffee and metal. Gunpowder.

Motherfucker…

Logan seized Ororo and pinned her against him, clutching her head to his throat. She felt his heart hammering in triplicate. She was dizzy with fear and the waves of tension pouring from him.

“Logan – OW!” He barreled her over roughly to the floor, flattening her.

Ugly yellow light shone inside his kitchen window. All Ororo heard was Logan’s panting breath and the ticking of the clock.

_Mine._

Logan let her go and crouched, sniffing the air and pricking up his ears. He saw her watching him and flattened his ears.

“Okay, that’s bad,” she whimpered, and Ororo bowed her face to the floor, edging further beneath the table.

That’s where he wanted her. Out of sight.

Logan disregarded the glass embedding itself in his thickly padded soles and hunkered outside.

He crept through the shadows. Darkness loved him, revealing nothing but his eyes. _There._ He saw a rustling in the trees.

He moved like quicksilver. No one threatened his mate. And this prey smelled familiar.

The wind ruffled his fur and took his musky scent downwind. He felt the shift in the man’s stance and saw the rangy silhouette of his body as he stalked the cabin.

He heard him humming an older song that used to annoy him whenever Carol played her old cassettes:

“I used ta love her  
But I had ta kill her  
Had to put her  
Six feet under  
Now I won’t hear her complaaaainnn…”

His voice was uneven but lusty as he tramped through the brush. He was confident in the outcome of his trespass in the Beast’s den. He didn’t cover his scent of his tracks.

_Now._

Logan crouched and sprang through the air in a fluid arc of sinew and rippling limbs. His stalker watched transfixed as the courier of his doom bade him goodnight.

“Holy shit!” His voice was choked as he scrambled back, gripping his rifle. His hands shook as he tried to set his site on it and get a clear shot.

He hunted from time to time. Wolves weren’t common to this part of the state. And it was too big to be a wolf…

The beast snarled and pounced on him as through trapping small game.

His claws sliced through the air and ripped through the downy layers of his shabby winter jacket. He dropped the flashlight, only after he saw demonic yellow eyes staring back at him. _Never look into the animal’s eyes. Don’t provoke him._

His light rolled, letting yellow radiance bounce off the trees and brush. He gripped the stock of his rifle in trembling hands.

_It roared._ The thing roared and towered over him, triumphant in its advantage as it swiped at him again. His cap flew off as he edged back on his haunches. Cold snow seeped through his pants. He might as well have pissed himself…

~0~

_God help me. Logan. He’s gone…_ Ororo attempted to collect herself and crawled toward the phone. She had to call anyone. The police…wait. Wait.

What would she do about Logan?

“Dear Lord, what’ll I even tell them?” She remembered the night on the beach. Eyes and teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Bolting through the sand as her feet sank into the cool, rough grains, slowing her.

They’d never believe her if she called “wolf” twice. But he was hurt.

At the end of the day, he was _Logan_. She had to help him, and he ran off.

She dialed the phone with shaking fingers.

~0~

Logan growled and barked, toying with the intruder and feeding his own anger. He smelled…tasted his blood. It called to him. His slavering muzzle quavered with anticipation and need.

“Logan?”

_No!_

He turned toward the low, plaintive cry.

He smelled her, then saw her in the doorway. The moonlight fell upon her hair as she clutched her sweater around her body. “Come back. You’re scaring me, baby…Logan!”

_She called that thing baby._

The stalker took that chance and cocked his gun, aiming for the porch. “If I can’t have you,” he hissed…

_**BAM!** _

The gunshot echoed through the wilderness. Ororo screamed and fell, stumbling on the porch steps.

Time froze.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO…oowOOOOOOOO!” The Beast’s rage filled the gloom of the surrounding woods.

_The thing spoke_.

“Sonofabitch!” the stalker muttered incredulously. He didn’t care. It was an abomination, and it had to be dealt with.

Orange bursts exploded from the barrel as he fired another round. Agony lanced through Logan as it breached his flesh, slicing through muscle and bone.

He collapsed into the snow, staining it red. All he could think about through his haze of pain was Ororo, and his wretched failure to protect her. Protect his mate.

The man staggered to the porch, victorious and bursting with power.

“You didn’t understand,” he reasoned aloud. “You ran. Why? You didn’t have to be afraid. I’m here. I’ve always been with you. My Zoe,” he crooned. He never let go of the rifle. Behind him, the creature struggled in the snow.

She lay petrified, yet unmarked. He bent, kneeling beside her. His rough, burly hand scraped back her hair from her face. She had a wicked scratch across her cheek that wept blood.

He loved the sight, watching hat beautiful face bleed. She trembled from the cold and his scrutiny, and he grew rock hard.

“I came for you. I’ll always come for you.”

“What have you done? Oh, God!” she sobbed brokenly. “Oh, God! Logan, Logan,” she chanted. She stretched out her hand toward the creature writhing on the ground.

The placid look of joy on the stranger’s face fell, then dissolved into rage. “Bitch,” he announced. “I came all this way?” _WHAM_ He struck her with the stock of his rifle.

That was all it took. Unholy strength flooded Logan’s limbs as he sprang to his feet. The stranger was so intent on striking Ororo again, watching blood stain her teeth vermillion and marveling at the sight that he never heard rushing feet.

The wind was knocked from his lungs as Logan pounced on his back. He growled and pinned him, face to the porch boards. Splinters cut his cheek, bringing that addictive scent of his blood to Logan’s nostrils. Logan’s jaws opened and he clamped his teeth around the back of his neck, worrying it with all his strength!

“DON’T! PLEASE!” All Ororo saw was her lover losing control. He was killing him.

Her voice penetrated the bloodlust. _Ororo._ He sank his claws into his back, feeling the coat rend and tear.

“I know you’re in there,” she sobbed. “You can’t kill him. You can’t live with yourself, Logan. I know you can’t… I’m all right. See? I’m all right.”

He reeled in confusion. The Beast warned him to get on with it. She couldn’t believe that he’d show mercy? Let the bastard go free after trying to take her away from him?

“Please, Logan. Oh, please. I can’t watch you do this to yourself.” Her tears froze on her cheeks. He heard her gulping for breath.

The man lay still. Time stood still.

Logan backed off.

“Ro,” he murmured, in his own voice. He turned to her, heeding her. She transfixed him. He descended the short steps to meet her. Gently he touched the scratch on her cheek.

The man rose up behind him and bellowed, “This is how I deal with ungrateful, cheating whores, Zoe!” He raised his gun and charged toward them.

“LOGAANNN!”

_BAM!_

Birds chattered and screeched as they took wing from the trees.


	14. I Trust You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ororo and Logan receive a visitor. Things get awkward. QUICK.

Ororo rocked back and forth in hard, cool little chair in the emergency department and clenched Logan’s hand, marshaling her strength.

He was so pale, and looked so wan and depleted, so unlike his robust self.

“Don’t leave me,” Ororo crooned softly as she wiped his brow. “I’ll be here when you wake up, Logan, I promise.” The nurse came by, decked out in lime green scrubs and looking too young to even give Logan a Band-Aid, and she offered Ororo a warm blanket. Ororo felt his skin and noted that it was clammy and chilly where the light blue patient gown exposed it.

“Yes; could you please bring him one, when you have a minute,” she agreed hollowly. She was left alone, and she stroked Logan’s hand with her thumb.

“Why the hell did you go out there, baby? Why?” she insisted. “You might as well have killed me when you did that. I wanted to die. I just wanted to die.”

Anguish choked her.

~0~

_“This is how I deal with ungrateful, cheating whores, Zoe!”_

The stranger was back on his feet, stunning Ororo and making her smother a scream. Logan roared and flanked Ororo, lunging for her and wrapping his body around hers. He knocked them over, rolling her out of the stranger’s path.

He was going to show them not to –

He tripped. His boot snagged on a loose floor board in the porch.

He fell.

The stock of his rifle hit first. His finger jerked where it was looped around the trigger.

Blood filled his vision before everything went black. Pain exploded through his skull as the round burst through his jaw and ricocheted inside before hurling itself out through his scalp, taking half of it with it.

Ororo’s scream burned her throat. She was nearly smothered by the freezing snow as Logan sheltered her back. He’d covered her as the stranger came after them, easily willing to take another shot if it meant protecting her long enough for her to get away. There was no time for recriminations against her or himself for not taking the stalker down. The Beast cursed him for a fool. _Weak._

His breathing was labored beneath the sounds of her hysterical whimpers and cries.

“So…much blood. So much blood. H-he has no face, no face,” she babbled when she caught sight of the body lying so limply nearby. The rifle lay near his outstretched hand, still smoking. The already filthy baseball cap was abandoned in a puddle of sticky gore.

“Ororo,” Logan groaned. “S’okay, baby, ‘m here,” he soothed gruffly. “Don’ look at ‘im. Can’t hurt ya now. Lemme…see yer pretty face,” he urged as he gently edged himself off of her. She rolled to her back and leaned up on her elbows to study his face.

Logan. Himself, once more. 

She raked her eyes over him with growing horror. He was pale and seemed to be in shock. Blood streaked his face, around his mouth and in random spatters where it sprayed from her attacker’s neck. Blood ran down his arm from the deep wound in his shoulder, and he only wore his boxers and the torn remains of his tank top in the middle of the freezing cold.

Adrenaline still fueled him as he accepted her help into the house, still in a daze. He only wanted to calm her, and to soothe her back from her frantic state. She’d seen too much that night.

Instead she moved like a woman possessed through his cabin, gathering items as quickly as she found them. A clean but threadbare old towel and a thick blanket from the spare room were wrapped around his wound and his body. She had no time to mourn that any of his possessions were being ruined and stained as she worked on him, chanting to him to focus on her.

“Stay with me!” she ordered breathlessly. “Keep listening to me, Logan, d’you hear?”

“Mmmmnnnh,” he agreed. He heard her fine through the dreamy haze and a faint buzzing in his ears. He tried to offer her a smile. She sounded too worried. He hated it when she worried.

“Logan! LOGAN! Wake up, wake up now! Don’t you fall asleep on me!” She bundled him against her, clutching the blanket around his body and cradling his head against her bosom. Pain throbbed and spread through his nerves, but he took his time, grunting and shifting against her and watching her movements.

“Yer okay, ‘Ro. Yer okay, now,” he mused hoarsely. She rubbed his arms; his skin felt like ice.

“I already called the police when you ran outside, sweetie! The paramedics are on their way, too.” It sounded like she was talking to him while he was underwater. 

Her face swam over him, and he watched her lips move, wishing they were kissing him. He got his wish as they plied his cheek with small brushes that warmed him. All the while he felt her hand stroking his cheek, his hair as she promised him he’d be all right if he just held on…

_Sleep now. Rest. Your work here is finished._ In his mind’s eye, Logan watched the Beast lie down and tuck its forepaws beneath its chin, sighing as it closed its eyes.

Everything just melted away to a dim, warm buzz.

 

~0~

Someone was weeping over him.

He felt the light streaming inside the small room. All of the noises around him were drowning him as his senses slowly came back “online.”

He smelled antiseptic. Myriad people had been in and out of the room, bringing various clinical smells with them.

‘Ro. She sounded so sad. He huffed and winced from his own pain and hers.

His eyes were bloodshot but still their customary Coke in a glass color as he opened them. Ororo was a mess, but joy and relief flooded her face as he gave her hand a weak squeeze.

“Nurse,” she cried, “NURSE!”

“Ow,” he winced again, squinting, “not so loud, darlin’!”

“You’re here,” she confirmed, clasping his hand in both of hers, which felt cold. She raised it to her lips used them to trace his work-roughened knuckles. When she raised it to her cheek, he palmed it, stroking it with his thumb.

“Yeah. I am.” He felt a damp tear and tried to flick it away. “Here with ya.”

“It was awful,” she sniffled. “There was so much blood, Logan, I can’t sleep! It’s all I can see when I close my eyes, and-and you wouldn’t wake up!”

“What time is it?” he complained.

“Three PM. You’ve been asleep all day.”

In the back of his mind, it made sense. He craved fresh air during the day, but it took him a lot longer to get his bearings first thing every morning. He went from a man who rose at dawn every day to lounging decadently in bed until almost noon. At night he got his second wind. He’d never been such a night owl before.

He couldn’t explain it. It had something to do with the wolf, ever since that night out in the dark. His scar throbbed and itched with the memory.

“Ya look tired, darlin’.”

“I’m not moving. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Her voice was implacable, but her touch was tender. She focused only on him and stared into his face, scarcely reacting to the barrage of nurses and doctors who gradually came and went. They checked his vitals seemingly every half hour. The noises and scents they brought with them chafed him; he craved the relative quiet of his cabin and the surrounding woods.

_Blood. So much blood._

His memories were still rattled and choppy. Flashes of visions came to him during the brief interludes of sleep that he stole while Ororo took time for a shower or stepped out into the hall to check her messages. She was on edge and ready to crack. The Beast within him grew agitated from her state.

They’d dug the slug out of his shoulder and repaired a severed artery before he could get away from them. His nurse remarked that he’d been lucky; they gave him a transfusion as quickly as he’d arrived in the ER.

“I’m AB negative,” he muttered. “Always thought I was a sitting duck if I ever needed blood.”

“Miss Munroe had the same blood type. She was very determined,” the nurse chuckled. The news hit him like a Mack truck.

“She gave me blood,” he echoed incredulously.

“She saved your life,” she corrected him cheerfully, patting his good shoulder. “You’re a lucky man,” she repeated before she left to check on his dinner.

She returned to his room, filling the space with the scent of fresh bread. He picked out her scent as well, savoring her pheromones and shampoo. He smelled the icy air trapped in the folds of her coat as she removed it and laid it over the chair.

“I wouldn’t feed hospital food to a dog,” she remarked as she opened the white bag and extracted a sandwich. “Knock yourself out. Want the Sprite or the Coke?”

“Ya gave me yer blood,” he said quietly. She paused, letting the soda can hover in mid-air after she cracked it open.

“You needed it.”

“Ororo,” he began, but his breath seemed to stop. Cold euphoria washed over him and he licked his lips. She slowly set down the drink on his bedside table and moved to his side.

“Ya saved my life,” he whispered. Ororo’s hand cradled his cheek and stroked back his thick, tangled black waves from his forehead. She made soothing sounds.

“If I had lost you, I would’ve died.” Her blue eyes told him everything. 

“Ya can’t risk yerself fer me!” he scolded, but his eyes were glazed with tears.

“I can, and I would again, Logan,” she argued sternly.

The unspoken sentiment lay between them and nagged them all day long. Ororo babied him, unwrapping everything and cleaning up after they were finished.

 

~0~

Her stalker finally had a name.

They didn’t end up back at the cabin after Logan was released from the hospital. The perimeter was roped off with yellow tape, and Ororo was sickened when she went back via escort to retrieve some of his things. The body was gone, but the sight of broken glass and Logan’s blood in the kitchen nauseated her. The spilled orange juice coagulated and darkened on the tile. The blood outside seeped into the ground, flushed away by melting snow, and she was thankful.

She found the details of what the police and coroners found splashed across the morning headline when she collected her paper from the mailbox.

**Local Author, Companion Avert Murder at His Home**

The words blurred together the more she read, and the reality of it sank like a stone in her gut.

_Law enforcement reported to the scene of a murder when they came to follow up on a call about a stalker invading a couple’s home. Acclaimed, local author Ororo N. Munroe made the call after midnight that there was a trespasser on the premises. This incident was the footnote of an investigation that police launched into on a stalker who frequented her property, leaving her disturbing, threatening messages. Ms. Munroe is the author of several bestselling novels._

_The stalker has been identified as Ray Darkholme, a local resident with a criminal record._

She read on numbly as the paper detailed his life and difficulties. Evidently she wasn’t the first person he’d followed, and he had a history of schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder. 

He worked at a parking garage three blocks away from Ali’s building. Ororo’s head reeled. That meant that he saw her coming and going _everyday._

“Jesus,” she whispered. He had a front-stage seat for her life!

On the jump page where the story continued, there was a black and white photo of him, taken from his driver’s license. She stared at the photo and at his gaunt features. She knew him.

He seldom spoke to her on those mornings when she parked her car in the tower. He just smiled every time and said “Working hard, or hardly working, ma’am?” when she came back with her validated parking stub and steered her car out of the gate.

They found his truck parked roughly a mile from Logan’s cabin. There were ropes, a large boning knife, hunting knives, flashlights, jumper cables, and a second gun in the shell. Two copies of her other books were lying in the front seat. Most eerily, the police found a photo of her, taken at a time that she couldn’t remember, but it was clear that she was on her way into Ali’s building, latte in her hand.

“My Zoe” was scrawled over the photo in red Sharpie ink. There was an unopened package of powdered sugar donuts, too. Donuts, the same kind she always bought at the convenience store…

How much did he know about her? How often had be watching her? How did he find out where she lived?

And how had she been so clueless?

The next three days were no better. More headlines, and more information as they found it followed in a series of articles about the “Only Once Stalker.” Except he hadn’t stalked only once. Police searched his apartment. They found private journals stashed by his bed about the things he wanted to do to Zoe, and also to Mick, both of her leads.

One of Ray’s other personalities was a woman, according to the psychologists who reviewed the journals and clinical records from time he spent as a behavioral health inpatient. He was every bit as obsessed with “Mick.” And that personality was jealous of Zoe, which they assumed was the reason for his rage and his threats to Ororo. Her mind spun. The mystery was finally solved, but no way in hell did it make any sense.

Naturally, Ali freaked. Big time.

She and Remy were practically camped out in her living room from the moment she helped Logan in through the door.

“Stop reading that,” Ali snapped as she cradled Giblet in her lap. Ororo sighed and folded the newspaper shut, chucking it into the trash. “It’s just making you upset, which is making me upset.”

“Can I have my life back now?” Ororo quipped miserably. “Is it finally over?”

“It better be. If anything like this happens again, that’s it. They’ll be carting me off to the morgue after I die of a heart attack.”

“Don’t say that,” Ororo hissed. “That’s not even funny, Al!” She hugged herself before Ali rose, gently nudging Giblet off her lap. She enveloped Ororo in a Liz Claiborne-scented embrace and lent her strength.

“I know, sweetie, I know,” she crooned, rocking her. “It’s hard to move on. All of it just reminds you how short life is, and how you have to enjoy it. You don’t know what’s coming around the corner.” She drew back and smoothed Ororo’s hair, which had seen better days. While she was getting situated back at her house, she wasn’t taking as much care with her appearance. Her thick white mane was caught back in a sloppy ponytail that made her look young and wan.

“I’m checking on Logan,” Ororo announced. Ali knew that was her cue to make herself scarce.

“I’m running some errands. Let me know if you need me to bring dinner.”

“Al, you’ve already stocked my fridge,” Ororo reminded her fondly. “There’s enough food in there to feed Brooklyn!” She remembered the night before, watching Ali rearrange the lower shelf while she grumbled under her breath.

_It won’t all fit!_

_Then we’ll **make** it fit._

It was Ali’s mantra. Her refrigerator was groaning over the excess of things packed in its shelves and drawers, but they wouldn’t starve.

On her way out, Ali noticed that a familiar gray car blocked her way out of Ororo’s driveway. “Pietro, what are you doing here?” she called out. He was impeccable even in his casual clothes, this time wearing all black, except for his ice blue ski jacket that brought out his eyes. His cheeks looked rosy and slightly chapped from the cold. Ali was surprised that he’d risk his car’s sleek finish coming out in the wind, salt and surf.

“I saw the news,” he explained breathlessly as he ascended the front walk, looking like a man with a mission. He ignored the awkward look both women were giving him as he leaned in the front door and kissed Ororo’s cheek before she could protest.

“Everyone’s seen it,” Ororo said bitterly. “It’s been in the paper all week. I’m sick of it.”

“You look like you need a break,” he offered. “Would you like to go out to lunch?”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Pietro…”

“We wouldn’t have to go anywhere if you didn’t want to. You’re probably still shook up,” he amended, smiling charmingly. He didn’t notice how stiffly she held herself when he reached out to caress her arm through the sleeve of her plush sweater.

_Understatement of the frickin’ year…_

“Hey, ‘Tro, could you go ahead and move your car? I’m blocked in, and I’m late meeting Remy,” Alison broke in. She flicked Ororo an odd look over Pietro’s shoulder, as if to say _I didn’t tell him to come over…_ Ororo smothered a sigh.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, looking sheepish. He galloped back to his Benz and gunned the ignition.

Back in his car, he watched the pair thoughtfully, watching the puffs of air fly from their mouths in the cold dampness. Ali wasn’t her usual effervescent self. That alone struck him as off.

And Ororo…she wasn’t looking anywhere near as polished. The twinkle of keen intelligence and humor was missing from her eyes, and she just looked worn and fretful. He wanted to remedy that.

Lorna hadn’t called him, thank God. She didn’t dare. As a kindness, he bundled her meager things from his apartment into a box and had it shipped back to her apartment. The necklace was still hanging from the mirror on his vanity; for some reason, the sight of it made him smirk.

That ship had sailed. Lorna served her purpose, once. He’d found her refreshing and exciting when they’d first met, and she was everything he usually looked for in a girlfriend: Feminine, attentive, socially adept, and willing to let him take the lead.

He was already growing bored of her before Ali even mentioned her acquaintance with Ororo and suggested fixing them up, so it was perfect timing. Pietro wasn’t a man who gave up much of himself when people pried. They didn’t need to know what he didn’t want them to know. So far as Ali knew, he was single and looking. She hadn’t met Lorna, and now, she never would. Period.

He slammed his car door and used his key chain to lock it with a resounding squawk of the alarm.

He gave Ali another winning smile as she climbed into her own Volvo. He hadn’t made much of an effort with Alison Blaire as a potential conquest. She ran in the correct social circles, she had her own money – lots of it – and she was certainly attractive, but she was simply too outspoken. She just wasn’t malleable enough…

Ororo, on the other hand, made him take a second look. She was famous. She was beautiful. She was bright. Therefore, most men considered her untouchable and out of their league. Pietro wasn’t most men, and he meant to make sure she knew that. He refused to be intimidated.

He wondered how well she fucked.

Despite her lack of makeup and lackluster hair, she certainly looked fuckable. She gave him a polite smile and eased back from him, letting his hand drop. She cleared her throat.

“I wasn’t expecting company.” 

“Guess I don’t rate as high on Ali, huh?”

“No one rates as high as Ali. No offense,” she chuckled.

“How are you holding up, Ororo?”

“I’m managing.” She was on a short tether. Pietro heard a low meow, and saw Ororo’s spoiled cat trot into the kitchen. She gave him an evil, yellow-eyed stare and flicked her tail back and forth.

Pietro despised cats.

“Say hello, Giblet,” Ororo nudged, bending down to scratch her behind her ears. Giblet responded by promptly laying them back. Her back arched and she gave a brief hiss. That slender tail continued to wave like a flag. 

“GIBLET! Bad kitty, that’s not how we behave,” Ororo tsked, shocked at her pet’s behavior. “I’m sorry, ‘Tro,” Ororo apologized. “I think she’s just reacting from what happened, and she knows I’ve been through a lot that has me on edge. Plus she’s had Ali treating her like her baby for over a week. I think she wants to replace me,” she finished. Ororo collected her cat, who was struggling against her shoulder, and moved down the hall. Pietro watched the graceful line of her back as she retreated.

She was dressed in simple, faded jeans that hugged her long legs and ripe, curvy rump. Her periwinkle blue sweater was made from velvety chenille and looked touchable. She looked touchable.

~0~

“Now stay here, you,” Ororo ordered, laying the cat on the foot of the bed. Giblet gave a brief, huffy meow that almost sounded like a bark to Ororo’s ears. She padded lightly across Logan’s sleeping form and headed straight for the other side of his pillow. She lightly sniffed his hair, tickling him with her whiskers.

“Nnnnghhh,” he grumbled sleepily. He’d been sleeping during the day for almost the entire time that he stayed with her. Ororo had taken to keeping a warm plate before she retired for bed at night, and she’d begun staying up later, too, to keep him company.

She didn’t know how often he sat up at night, watching her sleep.

“Don’t disturb him, kitty,” Ororo warned in a near whisper.

“She ain’t,” Logan muttered around a yawn. Giblet yawned, because it was contagious and because she was ready to settle in for a long nap. He peered up at her sleepily, and her heart filled at the look of contentment in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I was out front. Ali just left.”

“Someone’s still here,” he pointed out. His brow furrowed. “Did ya order pizza?”

“Yes. And no.”

“Who is he?” This time she frowned.

“A friend of Ali’s. He just stopped by to…Logan, you don’t have to get up.”

_Yes. You do. Go. Now._ Logan stood and stretched, letting all his joints pop. She drank in the sight of his broad, solid muscles rippling with the motion and felt a frisson of excitement in her belly. Ororo licked her lips, then felt disappointed when he donned a gray Dartmouth tee shirt, covering his appetizing body.

“I was gettin’ up anyway, darlin’,” he rumbled. He rounded the bed and looped his arm around her waist.

“No you werrrrmmph!” He cut off her reply with a hard, thorough kiss. It was heady. It was possessive.

It was over too soon.

“You comin’?” he asked as he strode out of the bedroom while she looked dreamy and dazed.

“Uh-huh.” 

This time, the Beast hadn’t failed him. He’d come out of the bedroom just in time.

“Hello,” replied the slick-looking fucker in blue who looked like he stepped out of a cologne ad. “And you are…?”

“Logan.” He didn’t extend his hand, nor did he sit. Logan’s gaze didn’t waver, his brown eyes stared Pietro down, pinning him.

Ororo read the question marks for what they were as Pietro stared back, then shot her a smile as she stepped forward.

She put those questions to rest when she gently tucked her hand into Logan’s.

“Logan’s recuperating from the attack.” Pietro looked confused. “He was hit by one of his bullets.”

“Wow.”

“Didn’t tickle,” Logan huffed, narrowing his eyes.

“Thank God you’re all right, Ororo!”

“Logan took a bullet for me,” Ororo added, stroking Logan’s hand with her thumb and squeezing his fingers. He squeezed back before prying his hand free. Before he moved away, she felt his tension. He was practically thrumming with it.

This didn’t bode well.

“I’d do it again,” he shrugged as he approached the refrigerator.

“Ali left lunch in there, sweetie,” Ororo called over her shoulder. Logan grunted in response. Great. Grunting, she mused. Sheesh…

“Maybe you’ll be up and around to have Ororo here show you how to tango,” Pietro remarked. His voice was chipper. “She can really shake a tail feather. She agreed to go with me to the publisher’s Christmas ball. Looking beautiful in red, I might add.”

“Quit it, ‘Tro,” she protested. Her smile was still present, but weak.

“What? You were stunning! She put supermodels to shame everywhere in this long, romantic-looking red gown,” Pietro admired.

“She’s too modest ta admit it. Gotta love that ‘bout ‘Ro. Made a man under the collar in that dress, even if she looked like she was freezin’ in it.”

“Excuse me?”

“The red gown. Kinda fond of that one. Wore that out with me one night. Wasn’t expectin’ it when she suggested we head out fer a snack.” Pietro’s smug look slowly disappeared, making way for Logan’s.

What was this, Ororo thought, a pissing contest? She wasn’t headed back to her room for a measuring tape any time soon if they were gonna keep this nonsense up…

“You look pretty healthy for a guy who just got shot.” Pietro changed the subject.

“Eh. Feel pretty good. Got ‘Ro ta thank fer that.” Logan was still sleep-tousled as he sipped the beer that he uncapped, and he gave him a “just got laid” smirk.

Right, Ororo decided. Better wrap this up before one of them _asks_ me for the tape.

“Tro, it was really nice of you to stop by. Logan hasn’t eaten yet, and I already have plenty of food here. I don’t want to keep you.” She didn’t tack any tactful words onto the last sentence to take the edge off.

Logan, one; Pietro, zip.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he lied goodnaturedly. There were other rooms in her house where he wanted to intrude and enjoy the hospitality, but the watchdog was still baring his teeth, beer in hand.

“Let me see you out,” she hedged, leading the way. Pietro felt Logan’s eyes boring into his back. He still felt a heady sense of satisfaction over baiting him, despite the fact that he appeared to be more than a houseguest.

Ororo preceded him to the door and held it open for him. “It was nice of you to visit, Pietro. Take care,” she said dismissively.

He didn’t try to resist the urge to touch her. Pietro ran the backs of his knuckles down her satiny cheek, and her brows drew together slightly in confusion. He didn’t interpret it as annoyance.

“You’ve been through a lot, Ororo. You’re a strong woman.” Before she could blink, Pietro swooped in and kissed her by the corner of her mouth.

She never even heard Logan approach behind her, but suddenly, there he was, growling by her elbow.

That burly arm looped around her waist again, this time much, much more possessively.

“We ain’t gonna keep ya, bub.” His eyes said “Scram!”

“Goodbye, Pietro,” Ororo declared. Pietro nodded thoughtfully and left. Logan watched silently, arm still wrapped tightly around her and his body heating her back in the breezy doorway.

“What the fuck was he doin’ here?” Logan growled without looking at her.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Sure ya do.”

“Logan…I went out with him. Very, very briefly.”

“Since ya’ve been with me?”

“No.” Not unless you counted their first impromptu “date” on the same night of the ball, which she didn’t.

His nose didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Her scent changed and her pulse jumped. “Yer sure?”

“Logan…no. Yes.” She turned into his heat and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed the mulish corners of his mouth as she spoke. “Ali introduced him right around the time you and I started talking. I was interested in you, Logan. Pietro is nice, but he wasn’t my type.”

“He’s under the impression that ya are.” He wasn’t about to argue how “nice” Pietro was.

Something about him just rubbed him the wrong way. The Beast growled warnings in his ears as soon as they met eyes. He was a rival. A predator.

“Probably not so much anymore,” she reminded him. He was still jealous, but some of his irritation slipped away as she leaned into him, nuzzling her way down the crest of his cheek to his jaw. “When a man comes out of my bedroom looking like sex walking, it’s pretty clear what’s going on, don’tcha think?”

“Mmmmm…” he considered. Her fingers sifted through his hair, and lust shot through him as she sucked his earlobe into her hot, slick mouth. She lapped at it hungrily, moaning how good he tasted. “Quit tryin’ ta butter me up…” he rasped, but he was already cupping her rump, encouraging her to grind against his hardness. “Yer not off the hook, ‘Ro.”

“Even if I promise to be good?” she pouted, darting her tongue into his ear to caress the whorls. His knees almost buckled.

“Darlin’…quit it. I’m still not finished tellin’ ya what ya did wrong. Ya don’t just run around…geez…” She pressed her body against him until he bumped back into the wall, and he groaned in surrender as she devoured his neck. _Wasn’t he supposed to be the aggressor, here?_

“I’m sorry he came here. I know it was wrong that I never mentioned him before, but I didn’t plan to keep seeing him,” she murmured into his flesh. “Please don’t be hurt, Logan. I don’t want him. I want you.”

“Ya want me,” he breathed hoarsely. Her hands were frantically working their way under the hem of his shirt, caressing his taut, warm flesh. Her fingertip grazed his flat nipple, making it stiffen. It was so strange, and overwhelming, fighting for control and dominance of their passion, even as she made him want more than anything to submit.

She laved his vulnerable neck, and he leaned back to give her better access. Her low hum of contentment almost sounded like a growl…

“Want you,” she whispered, kissing a path back along his jaw, enjoying the faint rasp of his stubble. When she reached his mouth, he ceased his struggle to hold back and gave her full rein. “Just you. I need you, Logan.”

“Damn it,” he hissed as she ground herself against his pelvis, prompting him to spread his legs apart, making room for herself. She slid down, roughly nipping his pecs and his abdomen; his muscles jumped every time her lips or teeth made contact, and he was hard as a rock. All rational thought went out the window, and his attention was concentrated solely on the sensations rushing through him and the commotion she stirred up between his legs. 

Air kissed his bared thighs, and the wall felt cool against his butt as she hooked her fingers into his waistband and jerked his sweats down around his knees. 

“Shit!”

“Mmmmmmm…” Slender fingers curled gently into the coarse, dark nest of hair, and her thumb feathered lightly over the shaft of his cock as she breathed over the plump tip. She gave him one last glance, peering up into the face she dreamt about every night, before she drew him into her mouth.

She was about to give him heart failure. And a concussion, considering how hard the back of his head thumped against the wall at the first luscious pull of her lips.

“All right,” he agreed, feeling his hips jerk forward with every dip of her head, “ya want me! I get it!”

“Mmm-hmm,” she moaned in satisfaction. Her palms explored the contours of muscle in his thighs and caressed his balls, feeling how tightly drawn they were. She cupped his shaft in both hands and made love to the silky head, swirling her tongue around it. She savored his faintly salty taste, and his flesh still smelled like sleep.

“Ya don’t…eeergh…wanna take this…aw, SHIT!...ta bed?” he implored.

“Mm-nnhh,” she protested.

“Whatever ya want,” he decided. “Aw, man…!” His voice was shaking, and he closed his eyes at how right she felt.

He craved her too much. He needed to be inside, and she took him way too close to the brink.

“Up!” he barked, circling his fingers around her upper arm and jerking her to her feet. She was plastered to him again, and he ground against her the entire time that he stripped off her clothes. He undid her jeans with a loud zip and stepped into them, dragging them off with his foot.

“Oh!” she cried as he ravished her. Their lips met again and again as he probed her damp center, slipping his fingers beneath the edge of her bikini briefs. She was so ready for him, yearning for it. “Oh, God, Logan, please!”

Her world spun around when he turned her toward the wall, yanked down the delicate satin panties and began to rub the head of his cock teasingly between her lips. Damn, she was wet! She cried out and wailed at how much he aroused her, shivering with each caress. He gripped her hips and thrust hard and true, filling her. She felt the tight, stretchy cramp and squeezed him, welcoming him home.

“Feels.Too.Good.” He slammed into her, and his hand crept up under her shirt to toy with her breasts. She arched into his touch. She gave up on speech.

He pistoned and rode her to completion, and his shout filled the tiny entryway as he climaxed, jerking and spasming as he filled her.

“Holy…!” She felt him pulsing inside her, and she squeezed him, milking him for as long as it lasted. He rubbed her clit, already moistened with her own juices, and she followed him to fulfillment.

They staggered to bed and buried themselves under the covers.

“Don’t let that fucker kiss ya like that again. Don’t even let him touch ya,” he murmured as he began to doze once again, this time from being sated.

“Loud and clear,” she agreed. He greedily stroked her bare skin and combed his fingers through her soft fall of hair, and all thoughts of Pietro left her head.


	15. I Hear the Secrets That You Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan frets about his future with Ororo and whether she will be safe with him. And he dreams.

Ororo cursed under her breath as she peered back over her shoulder through her rear window. She hated parallel parking. Soooooo much.

She had a difficult time spinning the steering wheel while wearing her mittens, but her hands were freezing. By the time she’d left, Logan was long gone, off to his first day back at work. Bless his heart. Despite the leisurely two weeks he’d spent with her recuperating, he was about to gnaw his own foot off to escape the house.

Ororo, on the other hand, woke up exhausted and tangled up in empty sheets. Logan’s nocturnal routine was…taxing.

She hated Main Street during rush hour, but she promised to meet Jon at a time that was good for him, and that was the only time he had open. She narrowly missed stepping into a thick drift of snow on the crowded street as she hurried down the block.

_Jonathan Silvercloud, Spiritual Healer_ He still had the same shingle. The office was nondescript from the street. She stamped her feet on the coarse brown welcome mat and hustled inside. The bell on the door jangled cheerfully and the warm air kissed her cheeks. His shop still smelled the same, rich with herbs and incense. Despite their history, Ororo still felt comfortable in his space.

He didn’t leave her waiting. “Hey.”

“Thank goodness you could see me,” she breathed in lieu of a hello. He came out from the back, carrying a small tray of essential oils, which he promptly set down as she rushed forward. His hug was warm; she nearly threw herself into his arms, causing him to grunt in surprise.

“When have I ever denied you anything?” he reminded her. She drew back, and the laughter in his black eyes faded to concern as he studied her. “You look beat.”

“I need your help.”

“Name it.”

“With a curse,” she blurted before he could offer to take her coat.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Wanna be more specific?”

“Forge,” she stammered, “I’m in love with a werewolf!”

 

~0~

Logan’s suit seemed to strangle him, and he fidgeted uncomfortably behind his desk while Clem chattered at him a mile a minute.

“Don’t forget, you have to fill out your benefits paperwork with HR after the meeting. All the forms are new, it’s not like when you enrolled the last time. All of the policy’s changed, and there’s new funding options for your 401K. You picked a great time to come back!” she enthused. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement, and Logan chuckled. “Welcome back, chief!”

“Yer a peach, Clem.”

“It hasn’t been the same without you,” she marveled, shaking her head. “You’ve been in this business a long time, Logan, and the company made a mistake letting someone go who knows it in and out. These young kids fresh out of college may bring in new ideas, but it’s not like having someone seasoned around to run things and tie up loose ends.”

“Yer scarin’ me, Clem,” he laughed.

“Speaking of loose ends, Jim,” she mentioned, “you have a meeting today with Mr. Lensherr.”

“The Dane account,” he sighed. Clem nodded with sympathy.

“They’re gonna work this to death,” she admitted. “Expect them to bend over and kiss your fanny before dumping the whole project back onto your desk.”

“Nice.”

“I’ll order in for lunch.” Neither of them was going anywhere, any time soon.

Clem hadn’t exaggerated. One meeting shifted into another, and he spent an hour returning emails and voice mails, greeting clients and letting Clem arrange his Outlook calendar until it was full of spaces with little bell icons, blinking back at him from the screen.

Nothing escaped him as he strode through the halls. He caught every whisper, jibe and aside since his arrival, and he knew it was inevitable, but he didn’t care.

“…wow.”

“…he looks good.”

“…lost weight, I think.”

“Hair plugs?”

“Was he working anywhere else?”

“…wonder if he drove a midlife crisis car in to work today?”

“…wonder whose ass he’s gonna kick for letting him go?”

The last gave him pause. He didn’t know yet, either.

 

~0~

Pietro munched on his BLT, carefully holding his small plate beneath it to catch the crumbs while he navigated the Web. Being at home, newly separated from his job, made him restless and irritable. He licked a dab of Dijon mustard from his thumb as he jumped to AlphLight’s corporate site to check his stock’s progress. Assholes, he thought bitterly.

Pietro scanned the index and the scrolling marquee listing the gains and losses of the day before he clicked the News link. The page gradually appeared, showing a photograph of Erik Lensherr, looking cocky and overstuffed. Pietro snorted as he read the headline.

“CEO Re-Appoints Director of Liabilities Division”

That caught his attention. He quickly scanned the article, interested in the fact that they rehired the one he replaced when he took the job with the company.

“AlphLight proudly welcomes James Howlett back to the fold after he accepted his retirement earlier this year, luring him back to a long, noteworthy career…” he read incredulously. “James, or ‘Logan’ to his friends, graduated with honors from…” His credentials became a blur as Pietro’s eyes flitted over the tiny photograph of Ororo’s new lover.

“Oh, no way. No fucking way,” he railed. His fist banged down on his desk.

The old sonofabitch took his job and his girl. Pietro stewed. He lost interest in his lunch while resentment chewed at him.

 

~0~

“What are these?”

“Tincture of wolfsbane. And these are silver-tipped,” Forge explained, nodding to the tiny objects in her hand that resembled darts.

“I don’t understand. Will these cure him?”

“No, sweetie. They’ll save your life.” His expression was grave, and her eyes grew wide.

“You don’t mean…Forge, tell me this won’t kill him!”

“Ororo, there’s not much else I can do. There’s not much in my references about lycanthropy that mentions cures –“

“Forge! Forget the damned books. Yours aren’t any more helpful than mine. You heal based on faith. You’re a shaman. I don’t want scientific explanations or doctor’s speak about why Logan gets up in the middle of the night and sleeps all morning the next day. I don’t want a _logical_ reason why I walked into his kitchen and stared into these piercing, hungry yellow eyes that nearly made me pee my pants. And I don’t want you to sit here and tell me that I found the man that I love beyond reason – this world’s reason or the next one’s – only to be cursed to lose him! I need to help him!”

“Maybe you don’t,” he murmured candidly. She blinked.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Maybe this is how he’s meant to be. What’s Logan like, Ororo?”

“What’s he like? Shit,” she replied, shaking her head at him in confusion. “He’s…he’s just…Logan. He’s been through a lot,” she recanted. “He’s recently divorced, and his wife hurt him really, really badly. Shafted him, cheated on him.”

“Go on,” he encouraged, nodding.

“He just went back to work for his old job after they forced him into retirement.”

“Wow,” Forge replied sympathetically. “Poor bastard.”

“Forge!”

“I’m not throwing stones. I wouldn’t have been so nice about going back to them, so he’s a bigger man than me. Had it been me, I would’ve pissed over every square inch of my old office before they escorted me out the door.”

“Ew,” she huffed, wrinkling her nose, but it helped to break the dark and heavy mood. Forge gestured to her to drink her tea. She took a shallow sip, savoring the under notes of lemon grass and rose hips.

“What’s his personality like?”

“He’s…funny. Mellow and easygoing. Most of the time he’s patient, but there’s this…restrained restlessness about him. I can’t describe it, but it’s been there ever since we met.”

“Have you ever seen him angry?”

“Yes,” she admitted. 

“What about?”

“Pietro. Sorry, this guy I went out with a couple of times.”

“Ah,” he considered. “And?”

“Logan all but gave him the bum’s rush out the door.”

“He was at your house?” Forge carped. His arched, heavy brows drew together and he scratched himself behind his ear. “Why was he at your house, if you were already seeing Logan?”

“Bad timing. I didn’t want him there, he just showed up unannounced. Logan was pretty pissed.”

“So were you,” Forge reminded her. 

“It’s not the same. You were cheating.”

“Logan thought you were, too, is my guess,” he shrugged, but there was a current of hurt in his voice. Ororo sighed.

“I didn’t cheat on him. That’s not how I’m built. If I felt like I needed to be with someone else, I wouldn’t stay with the person I already had. And if the person I was already with was the one, I wouldn’t even look at anyone else.” They shared a loaded stare over their teacups.

“I told you I was sorry.”

“I know.”

“I still am.”

“So am I. But I’ve moved on. And I’m happy…but scared stiff.”

“So he’s jealous. Has some anger issues with his ex. Had a lot going on at a job where they canned him. He’s had to swallow a lot of crow. Maybe he’s had enough. The wolf might be rearing its head out of his own anger, fighting for him when he can’t.”

“That’s…wow.”

“It’s just a thought. Also, just for shits and giggles, babe, has he ever mentioned being bitten?”

“Oh. No. Not really. He just has this weird…” Her voice drifted off as she visualized her lover, how he looked the night before when they retired to bed. She’d lain with him, leaning over him and staring into his face, savoring the details that endeared her so much. His chin, proud and sporting that wicked little cleft, bore a strange, ragged scar that stretched down toward his throat. The skin was clean, pink scar tissue that looked like it healed well from an old injury. “His chin and neck. He has a deep scar.”

“What does it look like?”

“In hindsight, Forge…now that I think about it, it looks like he was bitten.” A chill settled over her like a cloak.

~0~

**13th Precinct Police Department, Gifford Street:**

“I thought this was a closed case. Should’ve been when we finished searching Darkholme’s place. He was the killer.”

“I know that.”

“So what are we doing opening it back up?”

“Thought how he died was an accidental killing.”

“Shot his own head off with his own gun.”

“That doesn’t explain the marks around his neck that we found during the autopsy.”

“You mean on what was left of his neck.”

“They looked like teeth marks.”

“So maybe had a run-in with a watchdog on the property.”

“Already interviewed the owner of the property. He didn’t own a dog, back when we responded to the call.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It could. The bites happened the same night that the perp was shot.”

“Again, why are we looking into who wounded the killer, when he was a killer?”

“Because before that someone tried to kill him. And,” this was punctuated by a shuffling of papers as documents were removed from a manila folder. “That someone may have also done this guy.”

The photograph showed a morgue shot of the man who tried to mug Ororo. Time of death was listed after arrival to the emergency room. Patient died of blood loss from wounds in the neck. Coroners ruled it an animal attack, likely by a large dog.

 

~0~

Logan was already home when Ororo opened the door. The scent of steak and potatoes greeted her as she laid the day’s mail on the kitchen table and took off her gloves.

“Logan? Baby?” she called out. Giblet came running to greet her. The cat was slightly thicker around the middle; she “oophed” under her breath as she scooped her up and nuzzled her. Either she was adding to her winter coat to stay warm, or Logan was spoiling her. She could swear the cat had bacon on her breath…

“Where’s Daddy, baby?” she cooed. Giblet closed her eyes in contentment, stealing Ororo’s breath as she bumped her nose against hers. She mewed plaintively when Ororo dropped her on the couch to search for her man.

It was early. Logan was already tucked beneath the covers. She stifled disappointment. 

“C’mon, baby, I wanted to hear about your day,” she urged softly. Ororo sat on the edge of the bed and eased herself against him, tucking her chin into the nook between his shoulder and neck. She kissed his cheek hopefully, but he was knocked out.

“Thanks for dinner,” she whispered. She stroked his jaw, and he leaned into her touch. He still wouldn’t wake up. She sighed and rose, deciding Giblet would keep her company.

She tucked into the potatoes immediately but threw one of the steaks back into the skillet for a few minutes, both to warm it and to bring it a couple of shades closer to medium well. Logan liked his steak to still moo.

While Ororo consoled herself with the evening news, Logan moaned in his sleep.

_The snow chafed the pads of his paws, grown leathery from rough terrain as he tested the wind. There. Downwind. A sweet pheasant. Able-bodied, young enough to be tender. He licked his chops and trotted where his nose led him. He hunched in the bushes, watching. Waiting._

_He had to be silent. He slowed his movements, still addicted to that heady scent._

_Snow dripped off the branches, freeing their black twigs from its oppressive weight. He listened to the its smooth slaps hitting the ground. The earth was warming herself, slowly awakening from her gloomy sleep._

_The pheasant finally reared her head, emerging from the sodden brush. She bobbed her elegant crest to glean tidbits. He continued to lick his muzzle in anticipation. He, too, would feast soon._

_That was when he caught the stench of another. Predator. Capable and able-bodied. A male. He smothered the snarl that rose up in his throat, knowing he had to remain silent, yet quick. It was **his prey.** The pheasant chirruped and cooed, a low sound that beckoned to him, and, he knew, summoned his rival._

_Eyes. Silver eyes and a gleaming, bristling white coat. He caught sight of him and slowly pulled his black-rimmed lips back from sharp, white teeth, flaring his nostrils. The pale beast glared back at him, laying back his ears and letting his heavy tail jerk back and forth in a rhythm meant to intimidate and proclaim dominance._

_**Mine. Are you strong enough? Quick enough?** _

_Hunger drove him, flavored by rage._

Ororo finished her solitary meal and cleared her plate. Logan continued to fidget in the bed, fighting his way out of the covers as though they were choking him. She heard his faint thrash and crept toward the noise, deciding that booting up her hard drive to fiddle with another chapter could wait.

His brows were drawn together, and his breathing grew slightly uneven. “Baby?” Should she wake him?

_He grew tired of waiting, and he pounced on light feet. The pheasant was pinned by his gaze and the low, hunkering sound of his throaty greeting. The bird ruffled its feathers and hopped, beginning the chase. His silver rival ended its slouch and leapt into the clearing after the pheasant, unphased by his earlier challenge. They weren’t members of the same pack. Their goal was common, but they didn’t share it any more than the prey: Hunt. Eat. Savor._

_He tore after her, exhilarated by the flush of cold air into his lungs and the wind strengthening around him, stoking his hunger. The silver wolf quickened his pace behind him, hot on his heels; he could nearly feel his hot breath steaming his tail, but he didn’t care. The bird was his; she hopped and rustled her wings. Her feathers were sleek, sable brown mottled with white, thick with her winter coat. She gathered herself and initiated flight, fighting to warm and prime her limbs and wings. She dodged his maw narrowly and hopped, tripped, leapt up from the slushy snow._

_Her flight was frantic and uneven, never reaching much of an altitude. The wolves watched her, fascinated even as they still ran. The trees were woven tightly together, seeming to close in on the woods’ inhabitants. She searched for her nest but found none. She ventured too far._

_He seized his opportunity and sprang, defying the ground beneath him, and clamped his jaws around his prize._

_A staccato bark behind him, rough as sandpaper, signaled that his struggle wasn’t over. She squirmed in his maw and squawked, almost resembling a shriek of outrage. How dare he. How DARE he. Her talons clipped his muzzle, but not deeply enough to draw blood. He broadened himself, attempting by instinct to block the other wolf’s access to the pheasant, fiercely hoarding her for himself._

_His rival wasn’t to be outdone, yipping and huffing until he found his real voice. He snarled and barked, sending smaller birds twittering from the trees._

_She was succulent already as he sampled her, worrying her in his teeth. Her feathers teased his tongues, and he felt her pulse. He couldn’t wait to taste her blood. The need sang through him keenly. He longed to drown out the silver wolf and focus on nothing but her sweetness._

_The wolf pounced on him, thrusting his weight at his back. His torso seemed to snap beneath the impact, winding him. He fought to clamp the twittering, keening bird in his jaws, but she popped free, hopping toward safety in the brush._

_Behind her the dynamic changed. The hunt became a standoff._

_They rolled and scuffled, claws flicking out and teasing of the blood and scars to come._

_Teeth flashed and bit. Their barking rose in a clamor, punctuated by guttural growls and snarls. They exchanged hot breath and spittle, eyes dilated and glaring. They circled one another and came together again and again._

_The pheasant struggled to compose herself in the snow. Her throat was pierced and burning from her brush with death, and with dinner._

_He reared up onto his hind legs and lashed out with his teeth, clipping his rival’s face before finally closing them over his muzzle. He shook it with a hard snap, nearly breaking the silver wolf’s neck. The wolf howled and whined in pain but continued to claw at him. He felt the scrape against his chest, and it burned abominably, but not enough to let go. He was past pain. He would fight for what was his, and he would take down the interloper who dared to size her up and covet her for himself._

_Behind him the pheasant emitted coos of distress. Her voice grew weaker from depleted strength and her attempt at departing their hunting grounds. She hopped with less energy, flapping her wings._

_The silver fox was longer, rangier and built for speed, but he was stronger, with a denser, heavier build. He thrust back at him, knocking him back into the snow. The silver wolf still snarled up at him defiantly, not finished._

_**Oh, yes, you are.** _

_His bark of triumph was an ugly thing as he snapped his teeth around his throat and dug in, harder. Harder. Harder. Bitter, metallic blood greeted his tongue, staining his muzzle and fur in gruesome spatters. He didn’t let go until the pulse beneath his lips stilled. He let him go before his body could absorb the cold of the snow. Lifeless gray eyes stared up into the sky, rivaling its cloudy bleakness._

_He licked his chops again, huffing over the taste of blood, and he turned his attention back to the pheasant._

_She gave up her flight, and she hobbled more deeply into the brush. He paced and stalked her. It was only a matter of time. She turned back to him, incredibly, giving him a forlorn stare. He would honor her with a quick kill._

_She squawked and several of her feathers were torn off as he finally had his way with her, tearing at her tender flesh…he felt her heart explode and cease its hectic beat._

_He reeled, suddenly dizzy, and she once again fell from his maw._

_He lay groaning on the ground, limbs splayed in supplication to the sky._

_He hurt. He shouldn’t; the hunger was gone._

_He opened yellow eyes and blinked several times. He groaned aloud._

_He sensed someone nearby. He rose up on two shaking legs and rubbed his eyes to clear them, feeling the rasp of fur against his brow. He smelled cooling blood on the ground._

_She lay on the ground, blood leaking in runnels down her throat and breast, staining her white hair. Her cerulean blue eyes lost their light and stared up at him as he ran horrified to her side. Nausea and panic seized him, he staggered back at the sight of her broken form. Her arms fell open, hands outstretched the way she would greet a lover. He shook his head, denying what he had done._

_He howled loud and long as he fell to his knees by her side. He tenderly collected her into his arms, pleading with her. He suddenly felt the cold. The sky darkened above him from gray to obsidian. Starless, but the moon mocked him, large, full and pearly white._

_She slipped from his embrace. The snow around him turned blood-red._

_He was falling._

Ororo jumped back with a fright as Logan screamed. His voice was harsh and desperate. He didn’t see her. He cried out until his throat burned. She reached for him in his agony and struggled to pull away his hands; they fisted in his hair, attempting to tear it out in clumps. She then dodged his flailing limbs.

He was nearly frothing at the mouth.

“NOOO! NO! Don’t! Don’t! I won’t, goddamit, I WON’T!” he cried. “No, God, I WON’T! HELP ME!”

“LOGAN!” She was petrified. His eyes were staring sightlessly around the room as he tried to process where he was. His breathing was choppy; she heard him heaving for air. His broad shoulders were rounded and he shook, hands seeming to reach around him.

“Don’t take her away from me,” he wept. Tears rolled from his eyes and dripped down the bridge of his nose while he bowed his head into shaking hands.

“Oh, baby! C’mere! I’m here!” she begged. He finally heard her through his fugue. Haunted and disbelieving eyes held her there, tugging at her heart. Euphoria that he was all right, for the moment, made her eyes prick and chills run down her back. She once again reached for him, and he collapsed into her arms. He clawed at her back as he immersed himself in her scent and warmth, clinging as closely as he could to her heartbeat.

Soft shushing sounds and soothing words crept from her lips when they weren’t brushing his hair and brow. She rocked him and offered him solace, afraid for him. He continued to shake in her arms, and his skin was ice-cold.

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered. “Please, Logan, come back to me.”

_Come back to me._

“I won’t…hurt you,” he insisted raggedly. “I would die…before I hurt you.”

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“My God,” he rasped. “Oh, my God. I can’t hurt you. So hard…can’t control my fucking self when it hits me. Hunger. Pain. I fall away, and it just swallows me up, darlin’. Never remember what happens the next friggin’ day. Except for this time. Whatever it is, it ain’t gonna quit until it comes ta get me.” More tears streaked down his cheeks, turning his skin blotchy and red. Her palm was smooth and gentle as she wiped them away. “We can’t do this. It ain’t safe for ya ta be with me.” She froze and tightened her embrace.

“Logan, please don’t say that.”

“It’s true. Ya gotta listen ta me, darlin’.” He slowly eased himself from her arms and caught her hands, holding them tightly. “I can’t predict when this is gonna happen. The moon makes it worse. I ain’t the same man when it happens. I ain’t a man.” His emphasis on the last word made her tremble.

“Yes, you are. Listen to me. No, listen to me!” she cried. Her jaw was set and her blue eyes pierced him. “You’ve been fighting it. You’re a good man, and a strong man, and this…animal, or wolf that you become…it’s part of you. It doesn’t control you. Even when you changed, I knew you were there. You recognized me, and you didn’t hurt me.”

“Ya were afraid of me,” he argued.

“Logan, I was afraid FOR you.”


	16. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro confronts Logan. It proves to be his greatest mistake.

Pietro leaned further into his Benz’s leather seat and exhaled gustily. He watched the slow trickle of men and women in sharp, dark suits and heavy coats exiting the firm. When he checked his Rolex, he saw it was five-fifteen.

The old man didn’t strike him as the type to work late. From his rumpled demeanor as he materialized in Ororo’s kitchen, Pietro knew why he’d want to make it home on time.

Pietro didn’t even know why he was here or what he had to see, but he was still drawn to that lot of his old building on that side of town. He had to know.

What was it about this fucker that made his company want Logan back, instead of someone like him, who was younger, sharper and worth their investment?

“Any time now, Prince Charming,” he grumbled. Absently he toyed with his radio knob, finding nothing that appealed to him. Pietro fed a CD into the tray and pressed play instead, letting the music feed his senses. Enigma. Once upon a time, his music of choice to fuck to.

It could be again.

He was so lost in thought, focusing so hard on the door that lead to the parking garage that he almost missed the stocky, stern figure lumbering from the elevator.

It was him.

This wasn’t the rumpled man who looked like he rolled out of Ororo’s bed. There was something captivating in his face, like a snake charming its prey. He seemed to move in slow motion with a rolling gait that silenced his footsteps, even on the concrete. He seemed to absorb the echo around himself. Pietro’s silver eyes followed his movements as he dug his car keys from the pocket of his long, black trenchcoat. The garment should have swallowed him up, given his lack of height.

The tails of the coat fanned out behind him like a shroud. He tossed the keys in the air and caught the one he wanted between his fingers, a trick that was so habitual it took no thought.

Anticipation churned in Pietro’s gut. His seatbelt was already undone; he let himself out of his Benz almost in sync with the punch of the keys in the lock.

He watched Logan pause in his task, his back turned to Pietro. He could have sworn he saw him bristle. They were several parking spaces apart.

The slam of the car door and brief beep of the car alarm being set raised Logan’s hackles. Wrinkling his nose, he sniffed.

_Mother._

_Fucker._

“Long day at the office?”

 

*

“Quit putting it off. Dinner. My place.”

“You want to grill him.”

“Yes. I do.”

“I don’t have room in my calendar.”

“Wimp.”

“Al…”

“Remy will be here. They can talk sports. Eat. Maybe have a beer.”

“You promise?”

“ _Then_ I can grill him.”

“Don’t be hard on him.” A pause. “He’s had a rough couple of weeks.”

“Don’t make excuses for him. If you’re hiding something about him from me, that tells me there’s something wrong with him. Or between the two of you.”

Ororo bit her lip. _Shit._

“Ororo?”

Ororo sank onto one of her kitchen stools and leaned over the counter, tugging on a tendril of her hair.

Silence.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Ali…there’s nothing bad between us. I care about him.”

“Really.” She sounded skeptical.

“No.” She expelled a breath. “I love him. Heaven help me, Ali, I love Logan.”

“No way.” 

“Yes, I do.”

“No. Uh-uh. Not like you loved Forge.”

“Bullshit.”

“You were with him a lot longer before you fell in love with him. Love isn’t like they say it is in the story books. Look at me and Remy.”

“No. You were just in denial. Remy was in love with you forever before you finally woke up. And I write the story books. I don’t just pull it out of thin air.” Ororo sat up straight on the stool.

“I still feel like you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not.”

“Fine. But you’re different.”

“After everything that’s happened lately, I ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie.” It was one of Logan’s favorite phrases. “He’s taking good care of me.”

“Seems like you’re always taking care of him. He’s always sounding like he just woke up from a nap whenever I call you and leave a message when you’re not home.”

“He’s just not a morning person. Some of us aren’t.”

“So says the woman who rises at five AM to do ashtanga yoga.”

“I’ve taught him some poses,” Ororo chuckled.

“Too much information,” Ali sang, but it broke the mood. “Ask him how he likes his steak. You’re coming.”

“Rare. Rare enough to moo.”

“Yeek. No problem, though. And Ororo?”

“Hmm?”

“Let Logan bring the wine.” With that, they rang off.

Ororo began washing the afternoon dishes, noticing that Logan had finished the leftover turkey in the fridge, but eschewed the broccoli she made to go with it. She checked the clock and noticed that it was already after six. Where had the time gone? Better yet…

“Where on earth is that man? He should have been home by now.”

And why did she suddenly feel uneasy? Giblet mewed and flicked her tail from her perch.

*

 

“Cat got your tongue?”

Logan expelled a sigh.

“Nice suit. Almost makes you look like a businessman. Nothing like a little shiny gloss to fool people into thinking you can do that job, eh?”

“Ya look like yer dressed fer work, yerself. Back in the game already?”

“I never left the field. I just took a time-out.”

“Goody fer you.”

“Have you had a chance to celebrate yet? Getting your old job back and coming out of retirement?” Pietro shook his head and laughed under his breath, running his hand through the hair at his nape. “Were you just waiting in the wings for your buddy Mac to step up and push me out?”

“Ya weren’t pushed. Ya fell all on yer own.” Pietro’s smile stiffened and didn’t reach his eyes. “What’d ya expect? When a wolf raids the henhouse, night after night, ya gotta expect the farmer ta grab his gun and shoot that bastard’s head off. Gotta protect his property.”

“Is that a _threat?_ ”

“Ya don’t see me holdin’ a gun. Relax, asshole.” Pietro huffed and rocked back on his heels.

“I just wanted a friendly chat.”

“Figured ya’d pick the light of day. Most folks do that at Starbucks.” Logan left out that he did very little during the light of day. His job was exhausting him. As weeks went by, Clementine was scheduling his meetings later in the morning, even blocking out periods in his day where he could lock his door, pull the shades, and sleep. All the while, he was becoming more restless. 

His neckties seemed to strangle him. He despised the hard leather Stacey Adams shoes and carrying around his life in a briefcase. How had he loved his life before?

Yet now, he was ready to fight for it. Someone wanted what was his.

“I wanted to catch you alone. Didn’t think I could tear you away from Ororo long enough, so I took matters into my own hands.” Logan’s blood seemed to bubble in his veins. His nostrils flared and his fists clenched slowly at his sides. He let his briefcase drop to the concrete with a resonant thud.

“She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. One in a million.”

“Smart. And fine, too.”

“Yep.”

“Can she fuck?” Logan didn’t budge, but his eyes dilated into black chips. “Man, I love the way she looks at me whenever I see her, like she just…I don’t know, like she could just swallow me up. Her eyes are so intense.” Pietro’s voice was haughty and carefree, as though they were standing in a locker room instead of a garage. “A woman with a mouth like that’s gotta suck some great cock. Mmmmmmm…a man can dream about that mouth and wake up with wet sheets.”

“Wet sheets, eh?” Logan repeated, unmoving, but his eyes narrowed in a clear message to shut the fuck up while Pietro was ahead.

“She’s a hell of a dancer. You know what they say. A woman who can bring it on the dance floor can bring it to bed.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Too bad,” Pietro tsked. “What else don’t you two have in common? She’s famous. Talented. Young. Hot. You look like life’s been pretty hard on you.”

“It’s had its moments.”

“Moments?” Pietro crowed. “Life took a shit all over you. Give it up, old man. You’re a dried up, tired limp dick.”

“I’m the limp dick the company wanted back more than they wanted you.” Logan sucked his teeth.

The tip of his tongue scraped the sharp, hard point of his left cuspid. He yawned, not afraid of how ugly the gesture looked. Pietro’s smile died at Logan’s expression of boredom.

“Ororo went out with me first.” He was smug, as though that justified his claim to her.

“She took her pill. She’s all better now.” Logan flexed his fingers until his knuckles cracked.

“She pities you. Some women like Ororo like a man they can take care of at first. Baby you. Build you up. It’s a novelty, like having a new puppy. But after a while, it gets old. She’ll want to move on.”

“Naw. She already did. And let me let ya in on a little secret.” Logan’s feet slowly carried him forward, again surprisingly silent.

“Ho, hold up, now!” Pietro feigned fear. “Easy, old man. Did I hurt your feelings? Want me to say I’m sorry? I’ll be a good boy. Logan shook his head. 

His smile was slow and feral as he approached. He didn’t stop until he was right up in Pietro’s grill, so close he could smell his breath. Pietro towered over him, but Logan took up space and his dark eyes devoured him, promising to spit him out.

“C’mon. This is good, I guarantee it. Yer gonna love it.” Logan beckoned him down with a crook of his finger and leaned up, whispering in his ear. His hot breath stirred the hair at Pietro’s temple.

“An old dog like me’s learned all the tricks I need ta know. I ain’t a fuckin’ puppy.” Pietro leaned back and stifled a laugh, but Logan caught the defensive change in his body language. Smelled his fear. Logan made a low sound in his throat.

Deep. Harsh. His face was intent as he cocked his head and studied Pietro.

“Ya think ‘Ro pities me? Huh? Is that it?” Pietro couldn’t tear his eyes away from Logan’s. His stocky body seemed to keep moving until his hard, broad chest bumped his. Pietro tripped slightly, a clumsy movement for someone so used to being light on his feet. “Gotta tell ya somethin’, bub. C’mon. Yer gonna love it.”

“What do you think you can tell me?”

“I piss bigger than you.”

In the back of his mind, the Beast howled.

 

*

Ororo paced around her home and peered out the front window, watching for Logan’s car.

Her eyes landed on the paper. Logan hadn’t even unwrapped it from its plastic wrap yet. She opened it and laid it out on the table, sitting down with her cooling cup of hot chocolate.

One of the subheads on the front page caught her eye and made her lean in closer, mouthing the words.

“Local Woman Claims She Was Attacked by Former Employer and Lover”

Ororo shivered with a chill, even though her kitchen was warm.

She only skimmed the article, frustrated with the faceless woman’s plight until a name caught her eye.

AlphLight. Logan’s company. She worked there as an administrative assistant to the company’s previous director.

He reportedly assaulted her. Her injuries included contusions, a concussion and a broken arm.

She continued to mull the words, reading the whole thing over again.

_Previous director…_

She dropped her cup, shattering it on the tile. Giblet darted off in surprise, dodging the warm liquid and shards of pottery.

“Pietro,” she whispered. Her skin felt clammy and her stomach wrenched.

Moments later, she bolted from the kitchen, reaching the toilet in just the nick of time. She wretched until her stomach was empty.

 

*

Provoking a wild animal didn’t come without risks.

Faster than Pietro could blink, Logan’s hand shot up and fisted in Pietro’s collar and tie.

He bared his teeth and snarled, and only when it was too late did Pietro notice the subtle changes working their way over Logan’s face. The dim garage lights picked out stiff, spiky black hairs bursting through his flesh. Bristles of it coated his ears and cheeks. Pietro watched transfixed as Logan’s grip tightened around his jugular, blocking his instinctive swallow.

“Do ya pity me now?” His nostrils flared, widening as his nose darkened, toughening like aged leather. He shook him, rattling his teeth together.

 

*

 

Ororo leaned her face against the cool porcelain, still reeling.

He’d come into her home. Spent time with her. Taken her out in his car.

She’d trusted him. Ali trusted him, singing his praises.

“God, Logan, please come home. Please. Please. Please, come home.”

*

He shoved him back into a huge concrete support beam. His body struck it with a sharp crack, paralyzing him with pain; he tasted blood when he hit his tongue.

“I don’t even wanna hear ya say her name.” His voice warped, thickening and deepening in pitch with every word. The sound was the stuff of nightmares.

The voice of darkness.

“Thing about me ya gotta understand is, I live by instinct, whether it’s business or personal.” He slammed him back again, savoring Pietro’s grunt of pain and the fear twisting his features. Logan’s eyes shimmered a melted amber.

_Lupine._

“My instincts tell me yer a wolf in the henhouse. Ya live ta raise a little hell and take what doesn’t belong ta you.” Guttural snarls punctuated each thrust of his fists as he hoisted him roughly in the air, over his head. Pietro’s feet shook and clattered back against the beam. “Coulda found another job. Or I coulda rolled over like a good dog, retired. Gone fishin’.” He grew bored with his vantage point of looking up into Pietro’s face. The tendons in his throat stood out like stiff cables, pulsing beneath Logan’s coarse palms. He tossed him away like a rag doll.

_He wasn’t a man…_

Pietro’s stomach churned with revulsion and pant-pissed terror as he crawled back on the heels of his hands, scuffing the elbows of his wool coat along the pavement. Logan continued to change as he hunkered slowly after him.

“I figured, ya must have figured ya had a chance with ‘Ro, maybe even a claim ta stake, showin’ up at her place unannounced. Frankly, I thought ya were the pizza guy,” he admitted with a shrug.

“You’re a freak!”

“Wrong.” His ears stretched, extending and shifting until they stood at the same level as his temples. “I’m the man I’m supposed ta be.” The crests thinned, narrowing into points. They twitched, then laid back.

“Get away from me, you sick sonofabitch!”

“Uh-uh,” he snarled, baring sharp teeth. “Ya haven’t learned not ta show up where yer not wanted yet, and not ta try an’ take what’s not yers.” He moved fast, darting after Pietro, moving almost at a lope. Pietro fumbled as he tried to scramble to his feet.

“STAY DOWN!” Clawed fingers closed around his arm and dashed him back to the pavement. Pietro slammed the side of his temple on the way down. His vision blurred and his eyes watered.

“Please.”

“You’re weak.” The Beast spoke through Logan’s lips. “Unworthy.” Logan back-handed him, letting his knuckles strike Pietro’s cheekbone with a sharp crack. “Sniffed around where you didn’t belong.” His fist plowed into his other cheek, forcing a rivulet of blood from his lips. “I can’t allow that.”

Pietro’s arms flailed and struggled to keep purchase to right himself. Something clattered out of his pocket. He closed his fingers around it and closed his eyes, striking out wherever his hand could reach…

He was rewarded with a clipped yelp of pain as his Cross pen stabbed the creature in the side of his throat.

All he did was make him angry…

He wrenched the tiny weapon from his wrist, nearly dislocating it; the silver pen skittered away, gleaming with a droplet of blood.

His throat burned. The insult wouldn’t go unpunished.

Claws raked his flesh, tearing through his dress shirt as he was captured again. Logan shook him, making his head bobble back and forth. His breath was hot and acrid. Minute flecks of spittle landed in his face, and demonic yellow eyes bore into him.

“Slick, pretty fuck,” Logan mused. “You wanna step ta me? Take my place again? Ya can’t handle this. All ya got is what’s on the outside.” His talons dug into his cheeks, threatening to puncture them as he held his face still.

Savage, razor-sharp fangs descended and closed around the T-zone of his face, clamping the flesh around his nose. He worried his head back and forth, caninelike, until his head nearly snapped off his neck. He drew blood, feeling it pool in his maw. It was salty and bitter, hardly surprising.

The man left a bad taste in his mouth from their first encounter.

“Let’s see if ‘Ro or any other woman wants ya when ya aren’t so damned pretty. And here’s a tip: ‘Ro don’t want you. I can see it in the way she moves and her scent. Hear her pulse. Ya don’t make her heart pound the way it does when a female meets a man she wants ta be her mate.” Pietro’s face throbbed in agony; myriad cuts in his flesh burned and bled, stinging so much he couldn’t see straight. The perfection of his face was ruined. He wailed low into his hands as he clutched his face, rocking facedown on the ground.

“I know ya ain’t the kinda man who could love her the way she needs ta be loved. Fer life. ‘Ro ain’t just a piece of ass. Remember that. She’s special. And she’s off-limits.”

“Fuck…you.”

Logan’s body began to tingle, and he staggered back into the shadows. Pietro moaned, watching crimson droplets hit the pavement in front of his face. 

“You…think you’re that man, huh? You’re a freak.”

Logan’s body throbbed and he felt depleted, as though he’d finished a ten-mile run. Anger still bubbled in his veins, and the sight of Pietro’s blood was doing something to him.

Part of him wanted to see more. Much more.

_Don’t. Please. Enough._ The Beast within him roared and gnashed his teeth.

_**Enough.** _

“I’ll give ya a five-minute head start.” Pietro stared at him, incredulous. Logan’s eyes dilated again after his lingered too long. He felt the faint cramp of his bladder crying for release.

“You’re fucking kidding me-“

“Four and a half minutes.” His snarl was guttural. He stamped his foot for emphasis, and Pietro hated himself for lunging back.

He recoiled and ran for his car, fumbling for the automatic locks. With shaking hands he jammed the keys into the ignition and paused for one heart-stopping second.

His engine roared to life. His hand gripped the gearshift as he sized up his predator, outlined by his high beams. 

He heard the brake release over the pounding of his heart, and Pietro floored the gas.

Logan’s ascent was otherworldly, graceful…and impossible as he leapt neatly into the air. His coat flapped around him, pushed by the draft as his springy muscles carried him in a perfect arc over the car.

“HolyshitshitSHIT!” His brakes screeched and he swerved just short of crashing into the support beam. Ugly black skid marks hooked themselves around it in a crooked letter ‘J’.

The jump hadn’t even winded him. He had the nerve to look disappointed…

He put his Benz in reverse, whipped around, and sped for the gate.

He spied Logan loping after him in the rearview mirror. Slowing down wasn’t an option.

The fucking guard had been oblivious to the scuffle and merely looked annoyed as Pietro pulled up to the security bar.

Except he wasn’t stopping.

“The hell…?”

**CRRRUNNK!**

Splinters of the security bar and shards of glass rained down upon the street as he tore away.

“MotherFUCKER!” The guard fumbled for the phone and tapped numbers in his computer to pull up the video feed of Pietro’s car entering the garage and his parking permit ticket number.

He never saw the stocky figure retreating into the shadows.

 

Logan stumbled into the garage’s restroom off the main corridor and locked the door after himself. His breath was harsh and did nothing to alleviate the dizziness; he banged up against the bathroom counter and leaned over the sink.

He still tasted Pietro’s blood on his lips and spat it out, staining the Corian surface.

He caught his reflection and recoiled.

Before his own eyes, his features warped and shifted back to normal, but that didn’t prevent him from witnessing the nightmare he had become. The hectic amber light faded from his eyes.

He dashed cold water into the sink and splashed it over his face and hair. Pinkish streams funneled down the drain as he roughly scrubbed his face. 

He couldn’t wash it away. He’d never feel clean…

“I’m a freak,” he whispered.

His clothing was a lost cause, and it stifled him. He shouldered his way out of his coat and chucked it into the backseat of his car. The necktie was next, but he tolerated it less, balling it up and casting it into the garbage can.

Its bloodied silk dangled out from the lid as he made his way out of the gate, nodding grimly at the guard as he threw his money into the basket and drove out into the street.

The guard had problems of his own. He didn’t even blink.

 

*

Relief mingled with dread as Logan drove up Ororo’s driveway and saw her front lights on.

“Just tell her. Ya gotta tell her.” His coat had taken most of the damage; there were minute spatters of blood on his collar and lapel, but she’d seen him worse.

That was what made him ache.

Ororo was startled from her laptop by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up her front walk. She bolted for the door with Giblet hot on her heels.

“LOGAN! Oh, my God!” She yanked open the door and launched herself into his arms without preamble, nearly knocking him on his ass. He staggered back as his arms tightened around her. She fed his senses and he wanted to drown in her.

_I can’t lose you._ He heard the Beast whine in its throat, agreeing with him.

“Thank heaven you’re here. Oh, Logan, thank God,” she breathed into his hair. She clung to him so hard it was almost painful.

“I’m here, baby. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” His voice low and soothing, despite that it shook.

“He was here. In my house,” she sobbed, and Logan felt dampness against his neck. His fingers clutched her hair, tangling in the soft waves.

“Ro, baby, ya don’t hafta worry about that guy who was stalkin’ ya anymore, remember? I know yer still shook up-“

“No. No, not him. I mean Pietro.” Logan stiffened and his whole body went on alert. He pulled himself back and shifted his grip from her waist to her upper arms. Her sharp intake of breath made his stomach twist; she finally had a good look at him.

“What the fuck are ya sayin’, darlin’? Was he here today?”

“No, thank goodness…sweetie…what the hell happened to you?” Her eyes widened and filled with horror as she looked him over. He flinched beneath her probing, gentle touch, shrinking beneath her gaze. He was ashamed.

“When was Pietro here, darlin’?”

“Oh. No. Not today,” she told him, and relief washed over him as she ushered him into the house. She examined him in the overhead light of her foyer. “Logan…what happened to you?” Her fingers flew to his throat. “You’re _bleeding._ ” He flinched again, this time in pain as she grazed the wound on his neck. “It’s so raw. And it looks almost, burnt?”

“Eh?”

“It looks like something burned you,” she murmured. Her hands busied himself as she removed his blazer and unbuttoned his shirt. She peeled it down past his shoulders and tsked. “You’re coming with me. Kitchen. Now.” Her tone was imperious.

“Ro…”

“Uh-uh. Move it, buddy.” He was surprised at her briskness as she tugged him along by the hand, his blazer looped over her arm.

She nudged him into one of her kitchen chairs and hung the coat over another. She kept up her end of the dialogue as she moved from drawer to cupboard to refrigerator.

“You’re going to tell me where you got that burn. You’re going to tell me whose blood that is all over you. And you’re going to spill it about why you came home so late and scared the daylights out of me, Logan.”

“Right after ya tell me about Pietro bein’ in yer house.” She paused and faced him. They shared a heavy look, and she folded her arms around herself protectively.

“He’s not the man I thought he was.”

Logan wanted to shout _What was your first clue?_ but instead remained silent. He watched her gather together an ice pack, peroxide, swabs, and a roll of gauze.

“Take that off. All the way off,” she ordered. He shucked his shirt, glad to be rid of it, and leaned back in his seat. His eyes drifted shut and his expression was pained. He was exhausted.

“What happened?”

“You tell me first.”

“I was worried about you, and I asked first.”

“Mine’s worse. Get yers off yer chest first.” She fought back the urge to shake him. But judging from his wounds, yes, his was worse.

“I saw this in the paper.” She slid the daily edition across the table until it bumped his fingertips. It was still open to the page she saved. His frown was thoughtful as he scanned the articles, and his eyes landed on the jump headline from the cover, “Assault, Continued.”

His eyes stopped on the name “AlphLight” and he slowly raised them to meet Ororo’s. “Damn.”

“Damn skippy.”

“Bastard.” He peered down at the name of the victim. “Lorna. She was his admin. They tossed her out on her ass when they locked him out.” He tugged her wrist, dragging her closer to him, and he gripped her in supplication. “Darlin’, Pietro’s the guy who took my old job. They didn’t give me early retirement. Fer all intents and purposes, they canned me. My friend Mac put two and two together and told the board. They brought me back in and said he had ta go.”

“Geez.” She shook her head. “I never would have…he seemed so educated and professional and self-made. He was so charming and such a gentleman.”

“He ain’t no gentleman.”

“This was a wake-up call and a slap in the face, when I saw this.” She flicked the page of newsprint.

“Ya gotta stay away from him.”

“I know that!” She shook herself free and went to the sink to wet a towel. “I can change my number. That’s easy enough, and I can tell Ali not to pass on any more messages to him…”

“That ain’t what I’m tryin’ ta say, darlin’.” She was trying to daub at his neck. The wound was slightly puckered; his skin was singed black around the entry point. He stilled her hand. “Darlin’, he followed me today.” She looked confused.

“What are you saying? Followed you?”

“He was waitin’ fer me after work. Out in the garage.”

“So, what? Don’t tell me you two got in a fight?”

“It ain’t what ya think…”

“He started something with you, didn’t he? Please don’t tell me you hit him! Logan?”

“Darlin’, he needed his ass kicked! Look at the kinda man he is! Look what he did to Lorna!” He was frustrated and indignant, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“Logan…think about what I’m saying. Look what happened before with that Darkholme man when he stalked me. You went after him. You almost killed him. That’s what could happen if you lose control.”

A chill crept down his flesh and he breathed harshly through his nose, nearly hyperventilating. “Darlin’, I don’t wanna tell ya this, and I hate myself, but I lost control.”

“Logan!”

“I almost killed that fucker tonight.” 

Ororo froze; the swab fell from numb fingers, and she knelt before him. She leaned against his knees and took his hands. He fought against her, not wanting to look at her and trying to swat away her touch.

He was guilty. Soiled.

“You said you’d tell me what happened.”

“I can’t. Ya can’t handle what happened tonight.”

“Then you don’t love me,” she blurted.

“What!” He snapped back as though she’d hit him.

“If you can’t come clean with me, you must not love me, Logan.”

_Was she nuts?_ Then it occurred to him, _What the fuck? Don’t love her? Is she kidding?_

“Don’t love you,” he repeated stupidly. “Are ya nuts?”

“I’ve handled a lot of what you’ve shown me so far, Logan. Give me the benefit of the doubt and a little more credit. I freak out sometimes, I’ll admit it. But hey, I’ve almost been stabbed, almost been shot, and I watched the man I love nearly die on a hospital bed. I figured the worst that can happen between us is already over with. Maybe I was wrong, in hindsight.” Her voice died, and more tears welled up in her reddened eyes. “But I love you _so_ much-“

“Ya can’t,” he insisted, trying to wrest himself away, but her grip was so greedy and protective, and her face was wounded.

“I can, damn it, Logan, and I do, so you listen to me. You have to tell me what happened tonight. You can’t protect me from it. I need to know what Pietro said to you . What he did to you.”

_He had to protect her from it._ He shook his head. “Darlin’, please…just trust me when I tell ya not ta worry about him anymore. He ain’t gonna show up on yer doorstep again.”

“Tell me,” she demanded, as though he hadn’t spoken.

“Don’t, baby, just…don’t. Please. I’m askin’ you, ‘Ro. Don’t.” Fear welled up inside him. The Beast was growling warnings in his brain, making his heart pound.

“Then there’s nothing to say.” Her gaze was suddenly resigned. She released him, and he was afraid now as he watched her retreat from him.

“Where ya goin’, ‘Ro?”

“Bed. I’m tired. The gauze is there on the table; wrap up that burn so it doesn’t get infected, okay, sweetie?”

“Ro, wait.”

She wouldn’t listen to him as she strode into her room. Their room. It already felt like him, with several of his shirts, jeans and slacks hanging in her closet, and his aftershave sharing space on her vanity with her makeup.

He found his second wind and jumped up, chasing her.

“Ya don’t know what yer askin’ me for.”

“That’s what you keep telling me.” Almost mechanically she fished her favorite flannel pajamas from her top drawer and peeled off her sweater. “I guess I’ll believe it after a while. But that won’t make me feel any better.”

“Ororo!”

“Didn’t I tell you to wrap that?’

“No! Yes! Wait! Just wait one fuckin’ minute!” He reached around her and snatched her pajama top, tossing it away and spinning her around to face him. “It ain’t just that he confronted me. Darlin’, it wasn’t that dark out. No moon. No stars yet. Barely nightfall. And…I changed.” Her brows drew together.

“Logan…what?”

“I changed, darlin’. He drew it out of me, and I changed. And I ain’t never been so scared of what was inside of me.”

“Oh, sweetie!” She reached for him, cupping his face. He tried again to look away, but she tugged him back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I went after him. He said some things, darlin’, bout you. ‘Bout us. He egged me on and made me, I don’t know, just…just wanna hurt him. Put him down.” His eyes shone. “Put him in his place, fer challenging me.” His hands closed over hers. “Ya can hate me if ya want, but I lost it. He wasn’t just showin’ off in the locker room, ‘Ro.” She huffed in annoyance, but she stroked his hair back from his temple. “He smelled like a threat. I felt it when I first saw him here. There was something about him that just felt wrong.”

“I just thought he was a little uptight.”

“Well, ya thought wrong.” He closed his eyes and leaned into her. A tear slipped loose from his lids and raced down his cheek. “I don’t wanna lose you, ‘Ro, and ya can’t tell me I don’t love you. Just don’t make me live without you. Because I can’t.”

_You can’t tell me I don’t love you._ His words resonated inside her and her emotions threatened to pull her under.

“I was just watching him rant on and listenin’ to him talkin’ shit, ‘Ro. He waited for me out there. I don’t know how long. I knew there was somethin’ about him that rubbed me wrong, ‘Ro, but I didn’t wanna be right.” She traced his wound.

“He cut you?”

“Jabbed me in the neck. He was tryin’ ta get away.” She nodded, remembering the first night she saw him change and how badly she wanted to run.

“With what?”

“Shit. I don’t know…wait. It was this little pen.”

“A pen?”

“Yeah. One of those heavy ones, the kind a company gives ya for years of great service, performance, whatever. When they don’t wanna give ya a raise.”

“Like a Cross pen.”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, one of those!”

“What kind? What was it made of?”

“I dunno.” His face was blank. “I hardly saw it.”

“Some companies go for broke and give out gold ones.”

“No. Maybe it was platinum or something.”

“Or silver,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Silver,” she repeated numbly. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” She let him go and turned away, hugging herself.

“What’s the matter?”

“He could have killed you.”

“With a pen,” he argued. “Not on his best day.”

“No. With silver.” Nausea gripped him as it hit him what she was saying.

“I don’t…how can it…hurt me?”

“Silver’s like poison,” Ororo explained, tears threatening again, “to someone like you.” She hurried back to the kitchen, not caring that she only wore her jeans and bra.

“Ro!”

“Wait. You have to know this. You have to.” She came back with a spoon from her heirloom silverware box. “Hold this spoon.”

“Are ya kiddin’ me?”

“Hold it. Hold on to it.” She shoved it at him; his look was skeptical as he reached for it.

He gripped it, his face changing from doubtful to shocked, then to stricken with pain. “Ahhh! AGGGHH! SHIT!” He dropped it to the floor and wrung his hand, cradling it. Ororo reached for him again, tugging at his wrist. She forced his palm up for her inspection.

The skin was reddened and blistering from what looked like a second degree burn. She blew cool air to soothe his raw wound.

“How did ya know?”

“I did my homework.”

“On what?”

“Werewolves.”

“Werewolves. Wait. What?”

“Have you seen yourself when you change?”

“Well…hell. Yeah. Just today.”

“You look like a wolf. Still like a man, but like a wolf, sweetie.”

“That’s nuts.”

“It’s worse at night. There’s the thing with the meat, and how sharp your hearing is, how exhausted you are during the day, and you heal so fast, Logan! You could have been in the hospital for days, or even weeks. They discharged you in twenty-four hours.” She clutched a handful of his undershirt and tugged it aside. “There’s no scar. How can you explain that?”

“That’s just it, baby. I can’t.” He sank down onto the bed, still staring at his palm. “I was attacked a while back. That’s where I got this right here.” He tilted his chin, displaying the scars marring the skin. “Wolf. Huge. I was just takin’ out the trash in the middle of the night, and it jumped out of the dark. Almost tore out my throat.”

“Baby,” she crooned, easing down beside him. She wrapped her arm around his waist and kissed his shoulder.

“I was scared shitless. I hit it, as hard as I could. A car tearing down the road past my house finished the job.” Her scent wafted around him like a blanket. “After that, nothing else was the same. Smells were too strong, voices were too loud. Everything’s just…extreme. And I feel…wild.”

Ororo gave his shoulder one last kiss and reluctantly left the bedroom. She came back with her tools from the kitchen and wrapped his hand and covered the wound at his throat. She finished getting ready for bed and slid between the covers, beckoning him to come to her.

She held him, both of them too frustrated and on edge to make love. He listened to her heartbeat until he fell asleep.

Yet she woke a few hours later to find him gone, his pillow cold.

 

_The Beast was restless. Moody._

_The bedroom was confining, even stifling. His mate slumbered peacefully. He was still on edge from her fears, and his failure to make her feel safe, protected._

_He had to prove himself to her._

_His mate._

_She plagued his dreams. He craved her touch. He savored her heat. She belonged to him. He knew nothing of love, only that she completed him, calming something inside of him that he couldn’t describe._

_The sounds of rolling waves comforted him and he took deep gulps of cool night air and sea mist, but this merely whet his appetite. He needed the dappled, soothing darkness of the wilderness. Now._

_Textures around him felt rough and decadent, whether it was moss beneath his feet or the careless brush of tree bark when he ran too close._

_There was no thought of tomorrow. Tonight was what mattered. In the darkness, beneath the stars was where he belonged, where he reigned._

_He ran. He hunted. He stalked. The Beast reveled in the thrust of his muscles and rolling gait, savoring the flavors of fresh game and his own musky sweat. He rested a moment, staring at the bandaged appendage in wonder._

_It was a nuisance. He peeled off the strange gauze and cast it off, sniffing at the injury that was still red and shiny from where he was burned. He sniffed it, darting out his long tongue and tasting it. It still smarted; he winced and huffed. It would get better, he surmised, but the pain would linger._

_Dawn threatened his repose. His den beckoned. So did his mate. That quickened his steps._


	17. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigators get closer to Logan's ex's killer. Logan, in the meantime, transforms again, shares some frank talk with Ororo, and makes a statement.
> 
> A BIG one.

The swab stung as the young nurse daubed it over his wounds. Her face was sympathetic and she clucked her tongue, appalled at the depth of the punctures.

They’d leave scars. Such a shame to ruin a pretty face like that…

He winced beneath her touch, closing his eyes to avoid staring into her face. She was plain and forgettable, really. Not the type to merit a second look.

She was joined shortly by his doctor, a graying man in his fifties in blue scrubs.

“The X-rays look great. No fractures, just the punctures. We’re giving you a rabies shot just as a precaution.”

“They don’t tickle,” his nurse warned. Pietro shrugged.

“Can’t be any worse than this.” But he stewed in his own angry thoughts.

 

*

Three quarter gibbous moon, waxing…

Ororo contemplated the dark clouds framing it in the sky, remembering what she learned in high school earth science. It always puzzled her that a new moon described when there was none. Her cup of cocoa was stone cold; she lost interest in it and dumped it in the sink.

He’d made a habit of slipping out after she fell asleep. His warm, sturdy body beneath her cheek had a sedative effect on her limbs every night. Attempts at lying awake talking were short-lived; the last thing she usually felt was his soft kiss on her brow before he turned them, spooning her.

Each time she awoke in the wee hours, his side of the bed was cold and empty, and everything in her bedroom looked too large and imposing in the dark.

So every night, she would fix herself a hot drink. Read by lamplight, or write by firelight. The clock mocked her. She prayed. Giblet kept her vigil beside her, crawling up from Ororo’s lap to drape herself around her neck like a shawl. Her purr was hypnotic and seemed to speak to her.

_Trust him. We love him. He’ll be back._ Giblet’s tongue felt raspy and warm at Ororo’s cheek.

“Can I help it if I’m scared?” she said aloud.

Sleep threatened, but the clock only read three-thirty. She had to stay awake. Something was compelling her, nagging her.

She had to _see._

She loved him, but this part of his life was hidden from her, buried down deep. Logan was working shorter days, traveling less and driving his assistant, Clementine, into fits with this constant need to reschedule his morning meetings. Trying to plan outings with him was becoming more of a challenge for Ororo; it was like May marrying December. How could they meet in the middle?

She didn’t remember when she dozed off. The fire dwindled down to its last embers. Something made her stir; Giblet flinched before struggling loose and padding to the doorway of Ororo’s living room.

Ororo’s blue eyes slowly drifted open, then widened in shock.

Giblet’s back was arched, hairs standing on end, and her tail was stiff as a board. Her hiss of warning was staccato and throaty, warping into a low growl.

“Kitty, what…?” Ororo’s voice died as an answering growl, lower and more menacing, sent the cat streaking away.

He was home.

He was…different.

“Logan?” she whispered.

He swam into her line of vision and merely watched her from the doorway. His eyes glowed a molten topaz, and his pupils were enlarged in the dark.

He bristled at the sight of the fire in the grate, but he focused again on the woman reclining on the couch. Her movements were hesitant and brief, eyes never leaving his as she closed her book and untangled herself from the throw blanket.

“You’re back,” she continued, keeping her voice low.

His gaze was disconcerting. He knew her, but he seemed wary.

It didn’t startle her that he was naked; his last change revealed that he was nearly immune to the cold.

He stalked the living room like some great beast, graceful and predatory, but he didn’t have that hungry look.

The hair coating his body was less dense than before, less like fur, but his brows were still heavy and beetled as he scowled at her.

“Rough night?” she whispered. He huffed, then yawned, revealing the snags of teeth that, again, weren’t as pronounced this time.

He wasn’t in the mood to talk. She sat up as he approached the couch and tried not to let him see her tremble. She gasped as he clamped her arm in his large fist and jerked her to her feet. She stumbled against his rangy, hard body and her heart pounded in her ears.

She was wrong; he _was_ hungry.

His growls were low and thoughtful as he examined her by feel, by scent. His breath whistled out through his nose and tickled her, but she was too unnerved to laugh. She tried to stroke him and somehow calm him. Her fingers combed through the mat of hair on his chest, and she felt his heartbeat, resonant and quick.

He gripped her hand before she could explore him further and dragged it up to his mouth. He nipped it as if to chide her for taking liberties, then darted out his tongue, tracing the webbing between her fingers.

Her nipples hardened and ripened beneath her jersey knit nightgown. He wasn’t through tasting her, allowing her fingertips to graze him as he nuzzled the pulse in her wrist. The texture of his flesh was foreign; his skin was dense and taut. Stiff whiskers grew along the contours of his jaw and cheeks, throwing his features and chin into stark relief where they were exposed.

He stunned her, coiling her fall of hair around his fist and jerking her head back. “Oh!” Her throat was exposed; he smelled the pulse of her warm blood beneath her smooth flesh and it called to him.

His tongue rasped hot and wet against her as he traced each vein and curve. Only then did he allow her hands to roam over him, to caress him.

She knew it defied reason. She should be angry. She should tear him a new one for worrying her so much, so _often,_ but relief overrode reason. He was there, real, tangible, needy, and _hot_ , hungry for her. For _her._

His guttural tone mingled with her sighs as he drew her back, nearly tripping her.

He was dragging her from the room. His steps were urgent, his manner no-nonsense as he eventually scooped her into her arms and carried her to her bedroom.

There was no fire. There was no moon. Ororo could barely see her hand in front of her face, but his eyes…oh, his _eyes._ She felt those hands thrusting her back onto the bed. He lunged against her, hot breath steaming her face as he covered her. She bucked and arched beneath him, wanting to get closer. She wanted to drown in him.

Logan wanted to sink into her like a tranquil pool, to let her swallow him up. She was his mate. She was his _love._ The Beast in him couldn’t quantify or define such a thing beyond physical needs, but there was no driving it out.

She fed something restless inside him and calmed him. Her voice and touch completed him.

But she was wearing that bothersome garment. It obscured her and tangled around her, making it difficult to savor her.

He thrust against her, snuffling and growling. She tried to meet him and strike up a rhythm, but he wouldn’t have it. He snarled.

“Easy!” she yelped. He bared his teeth. “Okay…it’s okay, sweetie, it’s…oh…okay,” and her voice died.

**_RIIIIIIPPPP…_ **

“Right. I didn’t need that old thing, anyway…” she insisted. Never mind that she’d bought it with Ali only a week ago. Then his body pinned her against the mattress with no barriers between her soft, smooth curves and his knotted muscle. The hair tickled her skin and left her oversensitized and aroused as he moved against her. She tried to caress him and hold him close. 

“No,” he huffed. She frowned.

“You can talk.”

“No,” he rumbled. She didn’t understand him until he bared his teeth again. His growl was low and continuous, wavering in pitch. Her heart hammered as his clawed finger pressed against her lips, silencing her. “Don’t. Talk.”

“Mmmrrmph?”

What he meant was “Don’t move.”

He wrested one of her hands back, then up, followed by the other, pressing them into the pillow beneath her head. He inhaled her heady, ripe scent. His eyes hypnotized her, wooed her. Devoured her. Like prey.

He steamed her throat, tasting her pulse again, but he took his time and wandered. His tongue flicked out and lapped up her flavors and textures. Ororo’s body demanded more of it. Her womb contracted with need. Slick heat gathered in her sex with each stroke of his tongue and nip of his jagged teeth. Logan latched onto her earlobe and suckled it.

“Ahh-ah-haaaaa!” she cried. He grunted a warning for her not to distract him, but it was futile.

The Beast was satisfied. She was a strong, healthy female and ripe for a thorough mating. She smelled right. She tasted succulent. She was ready for him…

_Please. I love her._

_Can’t hurt her._

The Beast sighed.

_I won’t._ He watched her features contort in the dark with the sensations she was feeling and felt triumphant. _I never could._ The Beast felt his host’s relief and shook his head. His fears were beginning to annoy him.

But back to matters at hand.

Tasting her. Slowly.

She shivered, then writhed under him, couching the throbbing flesh between his legs. Was he licking her? Was he kissing her? Did it matter? That voice in the back of her head gave up all sense and shrugged, Who the hell cares? His breath misted over her features. Despite his earlier overtures, he was tender now, cradling her face when he nuzzled the corner of her slack mouth. He moved against her, wanting to share his need with her.

When he eyes drifted shut in pleasure, he descended and let her hands slip free. She moaned in complaint as he exposed her and took away his decadently hairy body.

“Oh, God, Logan!” she husked as he bowed his head to her breast. He suckled her, and Logan’s lupine voice vibrated through her flesh.

“’Ro,” he seemed to whisper. His voice was muffled.

“Mmmmm…” 

He was toying with her. Each protest she made was met with an impatient growl, and each time her voice died, then rose, as he dominated more of her body. Words were useless to Ororo, for perhaps the only time in her life.

Every one of Ororo’s nerve endings burned for him. Logan nipped a path down her narrow ribs, making her flinch and whimper until he lapped the shallow recess of her navel.

“Please…”

His eyes mocked her impatience and reminded her she wasn’t in control. He drew in her scent slowly, deeply as he urged her thighs apart. Ororo felt Logan’s palm rasp over her belly, down, over her sex.

_Surely, he…?_

“Oh. Oh. My. Goodness…”

Logan was very, very greedy. Her flavors were musky, heady and addictive. He lapped at her as though he’d never get enough while she arched and cried out. He saturated himself in her pheromones and arousal, in her wetness. He marked her. She branded him with her passion.

Ororo’s thighs stiffened and spasmed around his shoulders. Pleasure coursed through her belly, straight into her core, and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm pushing her over the edge. She watched the bob and dip of his shaggy head, rapt.

He hadn’t meant to scare her. He _displayed_ for her.

“Yes,” she breathed. He paused, eyeing her over the crest of her pubis, between the hills of her breasts.

_Submit,_ the Beast rumbled inside him. 

It wasn’t a command to Logan. It was a command to Ororo, silent but easily understood as Logan gave her clitoris one final lick and drew back.

“Wait…no, Logan, don’t go, don’t…oh!” Casually he grabbed her ankle and neatly flipped her onto her stomach.

“Now,” he promised as he dragged her down toward the foot of the bed, making her belly and knees feel rug-burned. He jerked her hips up, forcing her to support herself on her elbows.

The sight of her sex raised up to him, still slick and ripe from his efforts enticed him. His member was turgid and thick, and Logan wasted no more time. He breached her in one hard, quick thrust. Her heart stopped; Ororo could have sworn it. 

Then her eyes rolled back in pleasure as he stretched her, filling her. He began to rut in long, hard strokes, making the tips of her breasts bounce and tingle. Ororo moaned loudly for him, and it excited him even more. She felt him. She needed him.

Logan was _her_ mate, indelibly and soul-deep. It was heady, exulting him and giving him a powerful rush. He huffed and grunted his fulfillment, gripping her hips more tightly as he moved within her faster, harder. 

“Fuck,” she whimpered into the pillow. “S’good. So good…” She didn’t try to speak again.

His climax throbbed closer and closer, creeping up the base of his spine. Logan grimaced as her warm, snug tissues squeezed around him.

“ _Nnnnggh…_ ” Logan’s voice was tortured and desperate. “Love…you.”

Her own voice was an untelligible sob.

“Love you, ‘Ro!” Her eyes snapped open; his thrusts were jerky and short, less regular, and she felt his cock throb and bunch inside her. He looped one brawny arm around her waist and hauled her up, covering her back with his chest.

“I love you!” she cried.

“Don’t leave me! Swear you won’t leave me!” The man inside him awoke with her name on his lips. The Beast was caught up in the grip of his climax, and of feeling so complete.

“Never!”

“Ro…I’m sorry…” She wanted to tell him not to be silly; he couldn’t help how he felt, how caught up he was in what they shared.

“Don’t be… _aaaahhhh_!”

She heard the low crunch of her flesh as his teeth punctured her neck and his groan full of regret. Her body was already defying her commands, completely driven by his will, and she climaxed as he found his own peak.

Logan withdrew his mouth and roared in denial. “No! NOOOOO!” His body continued to spasm as he filled her with his essence, and hers stained his lips. His embrace was crushing; Ororo flung her head back, letting her spill of white hair tumble down over his shoulder. She was bewildered and breathless.

He disengaged himself and caught her before she could tumble back to the mattress.

“Ro!” he pleaded, “oh, no. No.”

“Baby?” she murmured. “Why…did’jou jus’ bite…me?” Her limbs went slack and limp, and she crumpled like a rag doll. “Ow…” she muttered.

“I didn’t mean it,” he insisted as he turned her and laid her on her back as gently as he could. He hovered over her. Dawn began to break through, casting eerie light over the objects in the room and over her supine form. “God, baby, I didn’t mean it.”

“Know…you didn’t,” she winced, probing the wound in her neck with shaking fingers. 

“Don’t be scared, darlin’, okay? Please, baby? I’ll take care of it, I’ll take care of ya!”

“Know you will,” she slurred. Much like any other time they’d made love, Ororo’s orgasms were better than sleeping pills. She was caught up in a drowsy stupor. The bite broke the skin but missed the artery, barely bleeding, but the skin looked angry and raw. Her calm voice did nothing to soothe him.

She drifted off for a few moments despite the clatter in the bathroom. Logan yanked open the medicine cabinet and drawer and fished out bandages and antiseptic. He dashed a washcloth in cold water and hurried back.

“Ororo! Baby, let me look at that for a sec!” Logan was back in control and running on adrenaline. She blinked at the sudden glare from the bedside lamp.

“Mmmph…turn that out, sweetie. Come to bed.”

“Uh-uh.” He got to work, propping her on a little nest of pillows to get a better look. Logan tucked the covers around her in the meantime as he felt the chill returning to the room; he needed to bank the fire once he was finished in the bedroom, but he was loathe to leave.

She flinched beneath his touch as he probed and cleaned the wound, then relaxed as he laid the cool cloth over it. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

“Well, I sure as fuck won’t.” She opened sleepy blue eyes and laid her hand on his cheek.

She felt his regular hint of five o’clock shadow, but that was all. As the morning light started to filter through, he grew less feral and lost his nocturnal mask. Logan’s eyes were bloodshot but had reverted to their deep coffee brown. 

“What’ve I done?” He caught her hand and held it to his lips, pressing kisses against her knuckles. She squeezed his fingers.

“Something you just couldn’t help. Something happened to you,” she wondered aloud. “You changed again.”

“What!” 

“Not like before. Don’t worry. You were different. You, but…not you.”

“Shit.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed, barely leaning against her knee. She tugged his hand until he lowered himself to her. Ororo’s palms cupped his face and she stared lovingly into his eyes.

“You heard me talking to you.”

“Yeah. No. Kind of.”

“You were here with me. I could feel this weird struggle within you. It was like you were sleepwalking or in this weird trance. But…you were wild, Logan.”

“Pffft. That ain’t a comfort right now, baby.”

“Hush up, boy, I’m trying to explain something to you,” she muttered, tapping the tip of his nose. His eyes lowered themselves to the blankets over her chest. “No. Look at me.” His lips were pressed in a thin line.

“I’m an animal.”

“No. But there is something…maybe even someone inside you who is. Have you ever heard of totems? Or spirit animals?”

“What?”

“My ex always used to tell me about them. He said his was an eagle. Saw it flying in a vision he had one night. He says it watches over him and protects him. The animal inside you might be doing that.”

“How?” he insisted. “Getting me up in the middle of the freakin’ night, makin’ me run around in the dark, and howl at the moon? ‘Ro, I’m cursed, fer fuck’s sake?”

“Maybe you’re blessed,” she suggested. He shook his head and bowed his face into her hands. A hot tear slipped free and dripped over her thumb, and she wiped it away. “Can we talk about this when civilized people usually wake up? Sweetie, I’m beat.”

“I hurt you. What if it gets infected, or…”

“I’ll keep a compress on it. You had the right idea. But I’m really tired. Come to bed.”

“Aw, ‘Ro, c’mon!”

“No, _you_ c’mon. In. Bed. Now.” Impatiently she opened the blankets and fluffed them at him, exposing her body. He looked conflicted, but he craved her softness. He shook his head.

“James Howlett,” she sighed wearily, “you’ve made your point. I love you, you love me, you didn’t mean it, I’m fine now, and it’s cold out there. You’re naked. I’m exhausted after waiting up all night for you, and I want some cuddle time with my man. Get. In. This. Bed.”

The Beast’s Mate had her say.

The Beast crawled humbly beneath the covers. He drew her to him and cradled her as though she were fragile.

*

 

They both woke a little before noon, tangled in the blankets. Outside, the snow and icicles began to crack and melt, plopping down from the eaves of Ororo’s roof. Part of her couldn’t wait for spring, but winter made her want to take shelter indoors. It helped that she had such ideal company.

She felt Logan’s eyes on her as she opened her own. “Hi.”

“Hey.” His fingers stroked back a lock of hair from her eyes and traced the curve of her cheek. “Baby, I just wanna tell ya again that I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever worry, sweetie.”

“Ya know there ain’t much point in tellin’ me not to. Too damned late.” He yawned, and she kissed him before he could recover. “Mmmph! Mmmmm…” he murmured as she rolled him onto his back.

“I mean don’t ever worry about me leaving you.”

“Ororo.”

“I mean it. I love you.” He nodded.

“Good. I love you.”

“Good. Now feed me.” She gave him one last kiss and eased off of him, taking the comforter with her.

“Hey!” He sat up and scowled in protest. “Where ya goin’, darlin’?”

“Shower. I like my eggs scrambled dry.”

“Grrrrrrr,” he muttered before falling back into the pillows. His arms sprawled open and he sighed up to the ceiling.

 

*

“Nice.” He plucked the long, smooth cloth from the wastebasket while his companions dusted the scene in the parking garage. 

“That was some sorry shit,” the guard informed him, still piqued as he gulped his coffee. “Plowed straight through the gate like he owed me rent. Sorry motherfucker. He had a nice ride, too.”

“I’d like to see the feed from the cameras in a sec, if ya don’t mind.”

“Hey, no problem, man. Be my guest.”

“I’ve got blood here. Pattern’s odd, though…not much of it. No one tracked their feet through it. It pooled up here,” the officer said as he pointed, “and here. Like it just ran off the victim onto the ground. Not the kinda splash ya get when someone’s stabbed or mauled. Or shot,” he added.

“Hmmmmm.” The sergeant tucked the necktie into a plastic specimen bag. “Test this at the lab.”

“It’s in good shape. And expensive.” He nodded at it. “Hermes. My wife loves that brand label shit. Wanted me to get her a scarf like it for Christmas.”

“Tell her to ask Santa.”

“We’ve got a broken gate, broken glass, signs of a scuffle, but no one’s filed a report of an attack.”

“Maybe the victim was taken away in the car.”

“Maybe there wasn’t a victim?” the sergeant suggested wryly. He unwrapped a cherry Lifesaver from the battered foil and popped it into his mouth. “Maybe they threw down. Someone was waiting for the guy in the car? Or vice versa?”

“Someone should’ve heard a scuffle.” They looked pointedly at the guard.

“Hey, don’t even go there, McGruff,” he balked, holding up his hands. “They’re all the say across the garage from the booth.”

“Cameras,” the sergeant reminded him smoothly.

“It’s a big garage,” he huffed.

“Yeah. Huge. We’ll watch that feed now. Then we’ll be in touch.”

 

*

 

Pietro watched the morning news with a half an ear as he got ready for his interview. He held half a bagel between his teeth as he stepped into his black leather loafers. The television droned over the hum of the microwave.

“…the parking garage downtown was reportedly the scene of an attack; the perpetrator is thought to have fled through the security gate and caused considerable damage. The parking garage adjoins the AlphLight Securities building. No bystanders were reported as having been injured or attacked, but local authorities are investigating this incident.”

He froze; the bite of bread in his mouth felt dry, and he washed it down with a swallow of orange juice.

Pietro collapsed back into the couch and let his head fall back against the cushion, closing his eyes.

That dried up fucker had gotten the drop on him. It was still a blur…

All he’d thought about was getting out of there.

Pietro broke out in a cold sweat and his stomach twisted in tension. He hyperventilated and bent forward, trying to breathe slowly into his cupped palms.

“Get it together,” he muttered aloud. He sprang up and gathered his things.

It was time for a fresh start. His headhunter had a lead for him with a small savings and loan; it wasn’t much, but it would tide him over.

Once outside, things felt…overwhelming. Almost too sharp. Too intense.

His neighbor, Mrs. Bova, paused to greet him at the mailboxes on his way down the stairs. 

“Long time, no see, young man,” she cooed as she scratched her tiny Yorkie under the chin. She carried it around like a baby on any occasion where he’d seen her.

“I’ve been taking care of business,” he assured her cheerfully.

It was odd. Her Yorkie became agitated and her ears perked up. She yipped plaintively.

“Valentine, stop that!” she scolded. The dog wouldn’t be silenced. She yapped and whined, fighting to get free.

“She seems out of sorts,” Pietro mused under his breath. Truthfully, he despised the dog anyway, but he was trying to be polite.

The dog’s barks seemed to swell and magnify. His ears rung; he felt as though he were hearing the sounds through a tunnel. Pietro’s head throbbed.

He didn’t realize how stiffly he gripped his briefcase until he skipped aside when the dog worked her way free. 

“She normally never has such bad manners! Oh, I’m so embarrassed!”

“It’s all right-“

“YAP! YAP! ARFARFYARK!” The scrap of a dog had the nerve to _growl_ at him, and Pietro actually stepped back. She wasn’t satisfied with how close he stood to her owner, either, if the way she launched himself at his pants leg was any clue.

“Hey! HEY!”

“YARK!”

“Bad girl!” Mrs. Bova clapped her hands sharply. “Come! Now!”

“OFF!” Pietro snarled, shaking his leg with a snap. The dog’s tiny teeth released the cuff of his Hugo Boss slacks. Pietro’s silver eyes dilated, boring into the dog’s. His upper lip curled and peeled back before he could help himself.

The dog backed up on stubby legs and skittered back to her mama, nearly jumping into her arms.

“Oh, my! Her little heart’s just pounding!”

“I need to go, ma’am.”

“Well, sure you do! Look how nice you look!”

“Interview. New job, possibly.” He tried to sound humble, but he puffed up.

“You’re a shoe-in. Valentine, be polite and tell him goodbye.” She chuckled. “My old Bichon Frisse, FiFi, used to actually wave goodbye. It’s a trait of that breed.”

“She must’ve been a genius.” _Not like this little bitch._

“Good luck!”

“Have a nice afternoon, ma’am.”

He could’ve sworn he smelled fear in his wake.

 

He’d gotten it. No surprise. The receptionist out front had fawned over him, offering him water and a crossword book while he waited in the lobby. He’d initially been wary when she stared at him and wondered if it was because of his scars.

Instead, she seemed transfixed. Her eyes followed his slightest movements as he signed the guest list and gulped down the tiny paper cone of water, chucking it neatly into the trash.

_Awe._ If he had to choose a word to sum up her expression, that was it.

It unnerved him.

The meeting went well. Pietro glossed over his account of how he left his last position, using all of the correct corporate terms and phrases. “Pursuing other opportunities for growth” was a catch-all, reliable vehicle. 

On his way out of the lobby, the receptionist turned away from greeting another applicant at the desk to stare and wave after him.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she called. Her smile was hungry.

So was Pietro’s. His nose twitched as he caught a faint, provocative scent in the air. He breathed it deeply into his lungs and strode out into the blinding sunshine.


End file.
